iia 


8.  MACNAUGHTAN 


A  Lame  Dog's  Diary 


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•ClS^vr^nJ' 


LAME 
DOG'S 
DIARY 

A  NOVEL 

BY 

S.  MACNAUGHTAN 


W    « 

,'•$•«. 

%^^ 
•^t^ 


Author  of  "Selah  Harrison,"  "The 

Fortune  of  Christina  McNab," 

"The  Gift,"  etc. 

„•  *  »«S 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 
1906 


Copyright,  1905 

by 
Dodd,  Mead  &  Company 


Published,  February,  1906 


To 
Lady  Ellesmere 


Chapter  I 

PERHAPS  curiosity  has  never  been  more  keen  nor 
mystery  more  baffling  than  has  been  the  case  during 
the  last  few  weeks.  There  have  been  "  a  few  friends 
to  tea  "  at  almost  every  house  in  the  village  to  see  if 
in  this  way  any  reasonable  conclusions  can  be  arrived 
at,  and  even  Palestrina  is  satisfied  with  the  number 
of  people  who  have  taken  the  trouble  to  walk  up  the 
hill  and  chat  by  my  sofa  in  the  afternoons.  But 
although  each  lady  who  has  called  has  said  that  she 
is  in  the  secret,  but  at  present  is  not  at  liberty  to  say 
anything  about  it,  we  are  inclined  to  think  that  this 
is  vain  boasting,  or  at  least  selfish  reticence. 

The  two  Miss  Traceys  have  announced  to  almost 
every  caller  at  their  little  cottage  during  the  last  two 
years  that  they  intend  to  build. 

We  have  all  been  naturally  a  goo'd  deal  impressed 
by  this  statement,  and  although  it  was  never  plainly 
said  what  the  structure  was  to  be,  we  had  had  for 
a  long  time  a  notion  of  a  detached  house  on  the 
Common.  And  surely  enough  the  foundation-stone 
was  laid  last  year  by  Miss  Rub^  Tracey  with  some 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

ceremony,  and  the  first  turf  of  the  garden  was  cut 
by  Miss  Tracey,  and  only  last  month  the  whole  of 
the  Fern  Cottage  furniture  was  removed  in  a  van  to 
Fairview,  as  the  new  house  is  called — the  handsomest 
pieces  of  furniture  duly  placed  upon  the  outside  of 
the  van,  and  the  commoner  and  least  creditable  of 
the  bedroom  furniture  within.  Everyone  was  at  his 
or  her  window  on  the  day  that  the  Miss  Traceys' 
furniture,  with  the  best  cabinet  and  the  inlaid  card- 
table  duly  displayed,  was  driven  in  state  by  the  driver 
of  the  station  omnibus  through  the  town.  A  rumour 
got  abroad  that  even  more  beautiful  things  were  con- 
cealed from  view  inside  the  van,  and  the  Miss  Traceys 
satisfied  their  consciences  by  saying:  "We  did 
not  spread  the  rumour  and  we  shall  not  contra- 
dict it." 

But  the  mystery  concerns  the  furniture  in  quite  a 
secondary  sort  of  way,  and  it  is  only  important  as 
being  the  means  of  giving  rise  to  the  much  discussed 
rumour  in  the  town.  For  mark;  the  drawing-room 
furniture  was  taken  at  once  and  stored  in  a  spare 
bedroom,  and  the  drawing-room  was  left  unfur- 
nished. 

This  fact  might  have  remained  in  obscurity,  for  in 
winter  time,  at  least,  it  is  not  unusual  for  ladies  to 
receive  guests  in  the  dining-room,  with  an  apology 

2 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

for  the  drawing-room  being  a  cold  sitting-room  dur- 
ing the  frost.  But  Mrs.  Lovekin,  the  lady  who  acts 
as  co-hostess  at  every  entertainment  in  our  neigh- 
bourhood, handing  about  her  friends'  cakes  and  teas, 
and  taking,  we  are  inclined  to  think,  too  much  upon 
herself,  did,  in  a  moment  of  expansion,  offer  to  show 
the  Traceys*  house  to  the  Blinds,  who  happened  to 
call  there  on  the  day  when  she  was  paying  her  re- 
spects to  Miss  Tracey.  Mrs.  Lovekin  always  re- 
moves her  bonnet  and  cloak  in  every  house,  and  this 
helps  the  suggestion  that  she  is  in  some  sort  a  hostess 
everywhere. 

Palestrina,  who  was  also  calling  on  the  Miss 
Traceys,  gave  me  a  full,  true,  and  particular  account 
of  the  affair  the  same  evening. 

"  Mind  the  wet  paint,"  Mrs.  Lovekin  called  from 
the  drawing-room  window  to  the  Miss  Blinds  as  they 
came  in  at  the  gate,  "  and  I'll  open  the  door,"  she 
remarked,  as  she  sailed  out  into  the  passage  to  greet 
the  sisters.  Miss  Ruby  Tracey  would  rather  have 
done  this  politeness  herself,  in  order  that  she  might 
hear  the  flattering  remarks  that  people  were  wont 
to  make  about  the  hall  paper.  It  is  so  well  known 
that  she  and  her  sister  keep  three  servants  that  they 
never  have  any  hesitation  in  going  to  the  door  them- 
selves. Whereas  the  Miss  Blinds,  who  have  only  one 

3 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

'domestic,  would  seem  hardly  to  know  where  their 
front  door  is  situated. 

"  What  an  elegant  paper !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Lydia 
Blind,  stopping  awestruck  in  the  little  hall.  Miss 
Lydia  would,  one  knows,  have  something  kind  to  say 
if  she  went  to  pay  a  call  at  a  Kaffir  hut. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Lovekin,  in  a  proprietary  sort  of 
way ;  "  it  is  one  of  Moseley's  which  Smithson  got 
down  in  his  book  of  patterns.  The  blue  paint  is  what 
they  call  *  eggshell ' — quite  a  new  shade.  Come  this 
way  and  have  a  cup  of  tea." 

"  I  am  sure  it  is  all  very  simple,"  said  Miss  Tracey, 
in  a  disparaging  manner  that  showed  her  good  breed- 
ing, as  they  sat  down  in  the  dining-room.  "  How  do 
you  like  the  new  carpet,  Miss  Belinda  ?  " 

"  Glory,  glory,  glory ! "  said  Miss  Belinda ;  "  glory, 
glory,  glory ! " 

"  Show  Miss  Lydia  the  new  footstools,  Ruby  dear," 
said  Miss  Tracey,  "  I  am  sure  she  would  like  to  see 
them."  For  we  all  believe — or  like  to  believe — that 
to  praise  our  property  must  be  Miss  Lydia's  highest 
pleasure. 

Mrs.  Lovekin  seized  the  opportunity  to  act  as  tea- 
maker  to  the  party.  She  poured  cream  and  sugar 
into  the  cups  with  the  remark  that  there  was  no  one 
in  Stowel  whose  tastes  in  these  respects  she  did  not 

4 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

know,  and  she  handed  a  plate  of  cake  to  Miss  Belinda, 
saying, "  There,  my  dear,  you  sit  comfortable  and  eat 
that." 

"  Glory,  glory,  glory ! "  said  Miss  Belinda. 

The  Miss  Traceys  had  tea  dispensed  to  them  by  the 
same  hand,  and  accepted  it  with  that  slight  sense  of 
bewilderment  which  Mrs.  Lovekin  sometimes  makes 
us  feel  when  she  looks  after  us  in  our  own  houses, 
and  Miss  Lydia  Blind  distributed  her  thanks  equally 
between  her  and  the  Miss  Traceys. 

Nothing  was  talked  of  that  afternoon  but  the  new 
house — its  sunny  aspect  and  its  roomy  cupboards  in 
particular  commanding  the  heartiest  commenda- 
tion. 

Presently  the  ladies  were  taken  to  see  all  over  it, 
with  the  exception  of  one  of  the  spare  bedrooms  and 
the  drawing-room.  They  knew  these  rooms  existed, 
because  Miss  Tracey  paused  at  the  door  of  each,  and 
said  lightly,  "  this  is  the  drawing-room,"  and  "  this  is 
another  spare  bedroom,"  and  although,  as  Palestrina 
confided  to  me,  they  would  have  given  much  to  see 
the  interior  of  the  rooms;  they  could  not  'do  so,  of 
course,  uninvited. 

They  paused  to  admire  something  at  every  turn, 
even  saying  generously,  but  playfully,  that  there  were 
many  of  Miss  Tracey's  possessions  which  they  posi- 

5 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

lively  coveted  for  themselves.  The  Miss  Traceys 
smilingly  repudiated  their  felicitations,  while  Mrs. 
Lovekin  accepted  them  and  announced  the  price  of 
everything.  She  became  quite  breathless,  hurrying 
upstairs,  while  she  exhibited  stair-rods  and  carpets 
and  with  shortened  breath  apostrophized  them  as 
being  "  real  brass  and  the  best  Brussels  at  five-and- 
threepence."  No  one  is  vulgar  in  Stowel,  but  Mrs. 
Lovekin  is,  we  fear,  not  genteel. 

At  the  close  of  the  visit,  Mrs.  Lovekin  again  ush- 
ered the  visitors  into  the  hall,  and  opening,  "  by  the 
merest  accident,"  as  she  afterwards  said — without, 
however,  gaining  any  credence  for  her  statement — 
opening  by  the  merest  accident  the  door  of  the  draw- 
ing-room, she  peeped  in. 

The  drawing-room  was  void  of  furniture.  The 
wild  thought  came  into  Mrs.  Lovekin's  mind — had 
the  Traceys  overbuilt  themselves,  and  had  the  furni- 
ture, which  had  been  carried  so  proudly  through  the 
town  on  the  top  of  the  furniture-van,  been  sold  to 
pay  expenses?  The  suggestion  was  immediately  put 
aside.  The  Miss  Traceys'  comfortable  means  were 
so  well  known  that  such  an  explanation  could  not  be 
seriously  contemplated  for  a  moment.  No;  putting 
two  and  two  together,  a  closed  spare  bedroom  and  an 
empty  drawing-room,  and  bringing  a  woman's  in- 

6 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

stinct  to  bear  upon  the  question,  it  all  pointed  to  one 
thing — the  Miss  Traceys  were  going  to  give  a  party, 
probably  an  evening  party,  in  honour  of  the  new 
house,  and  the  drawing-room  furniture  was  being 
stored  for  safety  in  the  spare  bedroom  until  the  rout 
was  over. 

Doubtless  the  first  rumour  of  the  Miss  Traceys' 
party  was  meanly  come  by,  but  it  was  none  the  less 
engrossing,  all  the  same.  Miss  Lydia  hoped  that  no 
one  would  believe  for  a  moment  that  she  was  in  any 
way  connected  with  the  fraudulent  intrusion  that 
had  been  made  into  Miss  Tracey's  secret,  and  Miss 
Tracey  said: 

"  I  have  known  Mary  Anne  Lovekin  for  thirty 
years  " — this  was  understating  the  case,  but  numbers 
are  not  exactly  stated  as  we  grow  older — "  but  I 
never  would  have  believed  that  she  could  have  done 
such  a  thing." 

"  Bad  butter,"  said  Miss  Belinda,  shaking  her  head 
in  an  emphatic  fashion ;  "  bad  butter,  bad  butter ! " 

"  I  do  not  want  to  judge  people,"  said  Miss  Tra- 
cey, "  but  there  was  a  want  of  delicacy  about  open- 
ing a  closed  door  which  I  for  one  cannot  forgive." 
The  Miss  Traceys'  good-breeding  is  proverbial  in 
Stowel,  and  it  was  felt  that  her  uncompromising  atti- 
tude could  not  but  be  excused  when  it  was  a  matter 

7 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

of  her  most  honourable  sensibilities  having  been  out- 
raged. 

"  /  shall  not  say  what  I  think,"  said  Miss  Ruby. 

We  often  find  that  when  Miss  Ruby  cannot  tran- 
scend what  her  sister  has  said,  she  has  a  way  of 
hinting  darkly  at  some  possible  brilliance  of  utterance 
which  for  some  reason  she  refrains  from  making. 

"Bad  butter!"  said  Miss  Belinda;  "bad,  bad 
butter!" 

Many  years  ago  Miss  Belinda  Blind,  who  was  then 
a  beautiful  young  woman,  was  thrown  from  a  pony 
carriage.  The  result  of  the  fall  was  an  injury  to 
the  spine,  and  she  was  smitten  with  a  paralytic  stroke 
which  deprived  her  of  all  power  of  speech.  She  was 
dumb  for  some  years,  and  then  two  phrases  came 
back  to  her  stammering  tongue,  "  glory,"  and  "  bad 
butter."  She  understands  perfectly  what  is  said  to 
her,  but  she  has  no  means  of  replying,  save  in  this 
very  limited  vocabulary.  And,  strangely  enough, 
these  words  can  only  be  made  to  correspond  with 
Miss  Belinda's  feelings.  However  polite  her  inten- 
tions may  be,  if  at  heart  she  disapproves  she  can 
only  utter  her  two  words  of  opprobrium.  When  a 
sermon  displeases  her,  she  sits  in  her  pew  muttering 
softly,  and  her  lips  show  by  their  movement  the 
words  she  is  repeating,  while  a  particularly  good  cup 

8 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

of  tea  will  evoke  from  her  the  extravagant  phrase, 
"  Glory,  glory,  glory !  " 

"  Certainly,"  I  said  to  Miss  Lydia,  on  the  day  suc- 
ceeding the  famous  visit  to  the  Traceys',  "  Mrs.  Love- 
kin's  information,  if  so  it  may  be  called,  has  been 
wrongly  come  by,  and  yet,  so  frail  is  human  nature 
one  cannot  help  speculating  upon  it." 

"  That  is  what  is  so  sad,"  said  Miss  Lydia ;  "  one 
almost  feels  as  though  sharing  in  Mrs.  Lovekin's 
deceit  by  dwelling  upon  her  information,  and  yet 
one's  mind  seems  incapable  of  even  partially  forget- 
ting such  an  announcement." 

Perhaps  some  suggestion  of  what  was  forming  the 
topic  of  conversation  in  the  town  may  have  reached 
the  Miss  Traceys,  and  hastened  their  disclosure  of 
the  mystery.  For  very  shortly  afterwards,  one 
morning  when  a  flood  of  April  sunshine  had  called 
us  out  of  doors  to  wander  on  the  damp  paths  of  the 
garden,  and  watch  bursting  buds  and  listen  to  the 
song  of  birds  in  a  very  rural  and  delightful  fashion, 
we  were  informed  by  a  servant  who  tripped  out  in 
a  white  cap  and  apron,  quite  dazzling  in  the  sunshine, 
that  the  Miss  Traceys  were  within. 

I  appealed  to  my  sister  to  furnish  me  with  a  means 
of  escape.  But  she  replied :  "  I  am  afraid  they  have 
seen  you.  Besides,  you  know  I  like  you  to  see  peo- 

9 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

pie."  We  went  indoors,  and  Miss  Ruby  apologized 
for  the  untimely  hour  at  which  she  and  her  sister 
had  come,  but  explained  it  by  saying,  "  We  wanted 
to  find  you  alone."  And  then  we  knew  that  the  mys- 
tery was  about  to  be  solved. 

"  You  are  the  first  to  hear  about  it,"  said  Miss 
Tracey,  in  a  manner  which  was  distinctly  flattering. 
The  Miss  Traceys  always  sit  very  erect  on  their 
chairs,  and  when  they  come  to  call  I  always  apolo- 
gize for  having  my  leg  up  on  the  sofa. 

"  The  fact  is,"  Miss  Tracey  went  on,  "  that  we 
knew  that  we  could  rely  upon  your  good  sense  and 
judgment  in  a  matter  which  is  exercising  us  very 
seriously  at  present." 

"  It  is  a  delicate  subject,  of  course,"  said  Miss 
Ruby,  "  but  one  which  we  feel  certain  we  may  confide 
to  you." 

"  We  always  look  upon  Mr.  Hugo  as  a  man  of  the 
world,"  said  Miss  Tracey,  "  although  he  is  such  an 
invalid,  and  we  rely  upon  the  sound  judgment  of  you 
both." 

Well,  to  state  the  subject  without  further  pre- 
amble— but  of  course  it  must  be  understood  that 
everything  spoken  this  morning  was  to  be  considered 
as  spoken  in  strict  confidence — would  we  consider 
that  they,  the  Miss  Traceys,  were  sufficiently  chap- 

10 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

eroned  if  their  brother  the  Vicar  were  present  at  the 
dance,  and  promised  not  to  leave  until  the  last  gen- 
tleman had  quitted  the  house? 

I  do  not  like  to  overstate  a  lady's  age,  and  it  is 
with  the  utmost  diffidence  that  I  suggest  that  Miss 
Ruby  Tracey,  the  younger  of  the  two  sisters,  may  be 
on  the  hither  side  of  forty. 

"  You  see,  we  have  not  only  our  own  good  name  to 
consider,"  said  Miss  Tracey,  "  but  the  memory  of  our 
dear  and  ever-respected  father  must,  we  feel,  be  our 
guide  in  this  matter,  and  we  cannot  decide  how  he 
would  have  wished  us  to  act.  If  our  brother  were 
married  it  would  simplify  matters  very  much." 

"  You  would  have  had  your  invitation  before  now," 
said  Miss  Ruby,  "  if  we  had  been  able  to  come  to  a 
decision,  but  without  advice  we  felt  that  was  im- 
possible. I  am  sure,"  she  went  on,  giving  her  mantle 
a  little  nervous  composing  touch,  and  glancing  aside, 
as  though  hardly  liking  to  face  any  eye  directly,  "  I 
am  sure  the  things  one  hears  of  unmarried  women 
doing  nowadays  .  .  .  but,  of  course,  one  would  not 
like  to  be  classed  with  that  sort  of  person." 

Palestrina  was  the  first  of  us  who  spoke. 

**  I  think,"  she  said  gravely,  "  that  as  you  are  so 
well  known  here  nothing  could  be  said." 

"  You  really  think  so  ?  "  said  Miss  Ruby. 
11 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

But  Miss  Tracey  still  demurred.  She  said :  "  But 
it  is  the  fact  of  our  being  so  well  known  here  that 
really  constitutes  my  chief  uneasiness.  We  often 
feel,"  she  added  with  a  sigh,  "  that  in  another  place 
we  could  have  more  liberty." 

"  I  assure  you,"  said  Miss  Ruby,  in  a  tone  of  play- 
ful confession,  "  that  when  we  go  to  visit  our  cousins 
in  London  we  are  really  quite  shockingly  frivolous. 
I  do  not  know  what  it  is  about  London,  one  always 
seems  to  throw  off  all  restraint." 

"  I  think  you  are  giving  a  wrong  impression,  dear," 
said  Miss  Tracey.  "  There  was  nothing  in  the  whole 
of  our  conduct  in  London  which  would  not  bear 
repetition  in  Stowel.  Only  in  a  place  like  this  one 
feels  one  must  often  explain  one's  actions,  lest  they 
should  give  rise  to  misrepresentations,  whereas  in 
London,  although  behaving,  I  hope,  in  a  manner  just 
as  circumspect,  one  feels  that  no  apology  or  explana- 
tion is  needed." 

"  There  is  a  sort  of  cheerful  privacy  about  Lon- 
don," said  the  other  sister,  "  which  I  find  it  hard  to 
explain,  but  which  is  nevertheless  enjoyable." 

To  say  that  there  was  a  dull  publicity  about  the 
country  was  too  obvious  a  retort. 

"  I  think  we  went  out  every  evening  when  we  were 
in  West  Kensington,"  said  Miss  Tracey. 

12 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

"  Counting  church  in  the  evening,"  said  Miss 
Ruby. 

"  Still,  those  evening  services  in  London  almost 
count  as  going  out,"  said  Miss  Tracey ;  "  I  mean, 
they  are  so  lively.  I  often  blame  myself  for  not 
being  able  to  look  upon  them  more  in  the  light  of  a 
religious  exercise.  I  find  it  as  difficult  to  worship  in 
a  strange  pew  as  to  sleep  comfortably  in  a  strange 
bed." 

The  Miss  Traceys*  morning  call  lasted  until  one 
o'clock,  and  even  then,  as  they  themselves  said,  rising 
and  shaking  out  their  poplin  skirts,  there  was  much 
left  undiscussed  which  they  would  still  like  to  have 
talked  over  with  us.  The  ball  supper,  as  they  called 
it,  was  to  be  cooked  at  home,  and  to  consist  of  nothing 
which  could  not  be  "  eaten  in  the  hand." 

Claret-cup  was,  to  use  Miss  Tracey's  own  figure  of 
speech,  to  be  "  flowing  "  the  whole  evening,  both  in 
the  dining-room  with  the  sandwiches  and  cakes,  and 
on  a  tray  placed  on  a  recess  behind  the  hall  door. 

"  Gentlemen  always  seem  so  thirsty,"  said  Miss 
Tracey,  making  the  remark  as  though  speaking  of 
some  animal  of  strange  habits  that  she  had  considered 
with  the  bars  of  its  cage  securely  fixed  between  her- 
self and  it  at  the  Zoo. 

"  We  have  bought  six  bottles  of  Essence  of  Claret- 
13 


A  Lame   Dog's    Diary 

cup,"  said  the  younger  sister,  "  which  we  have  seen 
very  highly  recommended  in  advertisements ;  and 
although  it  says  that  three  tablespoons  will  make  a 
quart  of  the  cup,  we  thought  of  putting  four,  and  so 
having  it  good." 

"  As  regards  the  music,"  went  on  Miss  Tracey, 
"  we  have  come,  I  think,  to  a  very  happy  decision. 
A  friend  of  ours  knows  a  blind  man  who  plays  the 
piano  for  dances,  and  by  employing  him  we  feel  that 
we  shall  be  giving  remunerative  work  to  a  very  de- 
serving person,  as  well  as  ensuring  for  ourselves  a 
really  choice  selection  of  the  most  fashionable  waltzes. 
Ruby  pronounces  the  floor  perfect,"  said  Miss  Tra- 
cey, glancing  admiringly  at  her  younger  sister's  still 
neat  figure  and  nimble  feet ;  "  she  has  been  practis- 
ing upon  it  several  times " 

"  With  the  blinds  down,  dear,"  amended  Miss 
Ruby,  simpering  a  little.  "  We  understand,"  she 
continued,  "  that  some  chalk  sprinkled  over  the  boards 
before  dancing  begins  is  beneficial.  You  should  have 
known  Stowel  in  the  old  days,  when  there  was  a 
county  ball  every  winter  at  the  Three  Jolly  Post- 
boys— such  a  name ! "  continued  Miss  Ruby,  who 
was  in  that  curiously  excited  state  when  smiles  and 
even  giggles  come  easily. 

"  Now  remember,"  said  Miss  Tracey  to  Palestrina, 
14 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

as  she  took  leave  of  her,  "  you  must  come  and  help 
with  the  decorations  on  the  morning  of  the  dance. 
You  can  rest  in  the  afternoon,  so  as  to  look  your 
best  and  rosiest  in  the  evening." 

In  Stowel  it  is  ingenuously  admitted  that  a  young 
lady  should  try  and  look  her  best  when  gentlemen 
are  to  be  present,  and  rosy  cheeks  are  still  in 
vogue.  . 

The  Miss  Traceys'  drawing-room  is  not  a  very 
large  room,  even  when  empty  of  furniture,  but  it 
certainly  had  a  most  festive  appearance  when  we 
drove  up  to  the  famous  house-warming.  Every  cur- 
tain was  looped  up  with  evergreens  and  every  fire- 
place was  piled  with  ivy,  while  two  large  flags,  which 
were  referred  to  several  times  as  "  a  display  of  bunt- 
ing," festooned  the  little  staircase.  Several  friends 
in  the  village  had  lent  their  white-capped  maids  for 
the  occasion,  and  these  ran  against  each  other  in  the 
little  linoleum  passage  in  a  state  of  great  excitement, 
and  called  each  other  "  dear  "  in  an  exuberance  of 
affection  which  relieved  their  fluttered  feelings. 

A  palm  had  been  ordered  from  London  and  placed 
triumphantly  in  a  corner — the  palm  had  been  kept  as 
a  surprise  for  us  all.  In  the  course  of  the  evening  it 
was  quite  a  common  thing  to  hear  some  girl  ask  her 
partner  if  he  had  seen  The  Palm,  and  if  the  reply 

15 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

was  in  the  negative,  the  couple  made  a  journey  to 
the  hall  to  look  at  it. 

And  here  I  must  note  a  curious  trait  in  the  con- 
versation prevalent  in  our  select  circle  at  Stowel.  We 
all  speak  in  capitals.  The  definite  article  is  generally 
preferred  to  the  "  a  "  or  "  an  "  which  points  out  a 
common  noun,  and  so  infectious  is  the  habit,  that 
when  writing,  for  instance,  of  the  Jamiesons,  I  find 
myself  referring  to  The  Family,  with  a  capital,  quite 
in  a  royal  way,  so  perspicuously  are  capital  letters 
suggested  by  their  manner  of  speech.  In  the  same 
way  the  Taylors'  Uncle  is  never  referred  to  by  any  of 
us  except  as  The  Uncle,  and  I  feel  sure  that  I  should 
be  doing  the  Traceys*  plant  an  injustice,  if  I  did  not 
write  it  down  The  Palm. 

This,  however,  is  a  digression. 

The  calmness  of  the  Miss  Traceys  was  almost 
overdone.  They  stood  at  the  door  of  their  drawing- 
room,  each  holding  a  small  bouquet  in  her  hand,  and 
they  greeted  their  guests  as  though  nothing  could  be 
more  natural  than  to  give  a  dance,  or  to  stand  be- 
neath a  doorway  draped  with  white  lace  curtains,  and 
with  a  background  of  dissipated-looking  polished 
boards  and  evergreens.  The  elder  Miss  Tracey,  who 
is  tall,  was  statuesque  and  dignified,  the  younger  lady 
was  conversational  and  natural  almost  to  the  point 

16 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

of  artificiality — so  determined  was  Miss  Ruby  to 
repudiate  any  hint  of  arrogance  this  evening.  And 
it  may  be  said  of  both  sisters  that  they  were  strikingly 
well-bred  and  unembarrassed.  Those  who  had  seen 
them  in  all  the  flutter  of  preparations  during  the 
day — washing  china  and  glass,  issuing  packets  of 
candles  from  their  store  cupboard  below  the  stairs, 
and  jingling  large  bunches  of  keys — could  admire 
these  outward  symbols  of  ease,  and  appreciate  the 
self-restraint  that  they  involved. 

I  do  not  remember  before  at  any  dance  seeing  so 
many  old  young  ladies,  or  so  few  and  such  very 
juvenile  young  men.  The  elderly  young  ladies 
smiled  the  whole  time,  while  their  boy  partners  looked 
preternaturally  grave  and  solemn.  They  appeared 
to  be  shyly  conscious  of  their  shirt  collars,  which  I 
fancy  must  have  been  made  after  some  exaggerated 
pattern  which  I  cannot  now  recall,  but  only  remember 
that  they  appeared  to  be  uncomfortably  high  and 
somewhat  conspicuous,  and  that  they  gave  one  the 
idea  of  being  the  wearers'  first  high  collars. 

The  Vicar,  who  had  promised  to  come  at  eight 
o'clock,  so  that  there  should  be  no  mistake  about  his 
being  in  the  house  from  first  to  last  of  the  dance,  and 
who  had  been  sent  for  in  a  panic  at  a  quarter  past 
eight,  acted  conscientiously  throughout  the  entire 

17 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

entertainment.  He  began  by  inviting  Mrs.  Fielden 
to  dance,  and  afterwards  he  asked  every  lady  in  turn 
according  to  her  rank,  and  I  do  not  think  that  during 
the  entire  evening  his  feet  can  have  failed  to  respond 
to  a  single  bar  of  the  music.  The  blind  musician  was 
a  little  late  in  arriving,  and  we  all  sat  round  the 
drawing-room  with  our  backs  to  the  new  blue  wall- 
paper and  longed  for  home.  No  one  dared  to  offer 
to  play  a  waltz  in  case  it  should  be  considered  an 
affront  at  a  party  where  etiquette  was  so  conspicuous, 
and  where  the  peculiar  Stowel  air  of  mystery  per- 
vaded everything. 

The  Jamiesons  arrived,  a  party  of  nine,  in  the 
station  omnibus,  and  chatted  in  the  hearty,  unaf- 
fected manner  peculiar  to  themselves,  waving  little 
fans  to  and  fro  in  the  chilly  air  of  the  new  drawing- 
room,  and  putting  an  end  to  the  solemn  silence  which 
had  distinguished  the  first  half -hour  of  the  party. 
Each  of  the  sisters  wore  a  black  dress  relieved  by 
a  touch  of  colour,  and  carried  a  fan.  Their  bright 
eyes  shone  benignly  behind  their  several  pairs  of 
pince-nez;  and  as  they  shook  hands  with  an  air  of 
delight  with  every  single  person  in  the  room  when 
they  entered,  their  arrival  caused  quite  a  pleasant 
stir. 

Mrs.  Lovekin  had  already,  in  her  character  of 
18 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

co-hostess,  begun  to  distribute  the  Essence  of  Claret- 
cup  that,  diluted  with  water,  formed  the  staple  bev- 
erage of  the  evening  and  was  placed  on  a  small  table 
behind  the  hall-door.  There  was  rather  a  curious 
sediment  left  at  the  bottom  of  the  glasses,  and  the 
flavour  of  cucumber  suggested  vaguely  to  one  that 
the  refreshment  might  be  claret-cup.  Very  young 
men  in  split  white  kid  gloves  drank  a  good  deal 
of  it. 

At  last  the  blind  musician  was  led  solemnly  across 
the  room,  and  took  up  his  position  at  the  piano. 
He  always  left  off  playing  before  a  figure  of  a  quad- 
rille or  lancers  was  finished,  and  then  the  dancers 
clapped  their  hands  to  make  him  continue,  and  the 
elderly  young  ladies  smiled  more  than  ever.  At  the 
second  or  third  waltz  my  sister  was  in  the  proud 
position  of  being  claimed  in  turn  by  the  Vicar  as  his 
partner,  and  the  position,  besides  being  prominent, 
was  such  an  enviable  one  that  Palestrina,  who  is  not 
more  given  to  humility  than  other  good-looking  young 
women  of  her  age,  was  carried  away  by  popular 
feeling  so  far  as  to  remark  in  a  tone  of  gratitude 
that  this  was  very  kind  of  him. 

He  replied,  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  sacrifice 
myself  for  one  night ; "  and  one  realized  that  lofty 
positions  and  a  prominent  place  in  the  world  may 

19 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

carry  with  them  sufficient  humiliations  to  keep  one 
meek. 

The  conscientious  Vicar  did  not  allow  his  partner 
to  sit  down  once  throughout  the  entire  waltz,  and  I 
think  the  blind  musician  played  at  greater  length 
than  usual.  I  began  to  wonder  if  her  partner  re- 
garded my  excellent  Palestrina  as  a  sort  of  Sandow 
exerciser,  and  whether  he  was  trying  to  get  some 
healthy  gymnastics,  if  not  amusement,  out  of  their 
dance  together. 

"  There ! "  he  said  at  last,  placing  her  on  a  chair 
beside  me  as  a  fulfilled  duty;  and  feeling  that  she 
was  expected  to  say  "  Thank  you,"  Palestrina  meekly 
said  it. 

"  I  have  only  danced  once  in  the  last  twenty  years," 
said  the  Vicar,  "  and  that  was  with  some  choir- 
boys." And  the  next  moment  the  blind  man  began 
to  play  again,  and  he  was  footing  it  with  conscien- 
tious energy  with  Miss  Lydia  Blind. 

Young  ladies  who  had  sat  long  with  their  empty 
programmes  in  their  hands,  now  began  to  dance  with 
each  other,  with  an  air  of  overdone  merriment,  pro- 
testing that  they  did  not  know  how  to  act  gentle- 
man, but  declaring  with  emphasis  that  it  was  just  as 
amusing  to  dance  with  a  girl-friend  as  with  a  man. 

The  music,  as  usual,  failed  before  the  end  of  each 
20 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

figure  of  the  dance,  and  the  curate,  who  was  dressed 
in  a  pair  of  very  smart  shoe-buckles,  remarked  to  me 
that  the  lancers  was  a  dance  that  created  much  di- 
version, and  I  replied  that  they  were  too  amusing  for 
anything. 

The  Jamiesons'  youngest  brother,  who  is  in  a 
shipping-office  in  London,  had  come  down  to  Stowel 
especially  for  this  occasion.  Once,  some  years  ago, 
Kennie,  as  he  is  called,  made  a  voyage  in  one  of  the 
shipping  company's  large  steamers  to  South  America. 
He  landed  at  Buenos  Ayres  armed  to  the  teeth,  and 
walked  about  the  pavement  of  that  highly-civilized 
town,  with  its  wooden  pavements  and  plate-glass  shop 
windows,  in  a  sombrero  and  poncho,  and  with  terrible 
weapons  stuck  in  his  belt.  At  the  end  of  a  week 
he  returned  in  the  same  ship  in  which  he  had  made 
the  outward  voyage,  and  since  then  he  has  had  tales 
to  tell  of  those  wild  regions  with  which  any  of  the 
stories  in  the  Boys'  Own  Paper  are  tame  in  compari- 
son. In  his  dress  and  general  appearance  he  even 
now  suggests  a  pirate  king.  His  tales  of  adventure 
are  always  accompanied  by  explanatory  gestures  and 
demonstrations,  and  it  is  not  unusual  to  see  Kennie 
stand  up  in  the  midst  of  an  admiring  circle  of  friends 
and  make  some  fierce  sabre-cuts  in  the  air.  He  was 
dressed  with  a  red  cummerbund  round  his  waist,  and 

21 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

he  drew  attention  to  it  by  an  apology  to  every  one 
of  his  partners  for  having  it  on.  "  One  gets  into 
the  habit  of  dressing  like  this  out  there,"  he  said,  in 
a  tone  of  excuse.  The  Pirate  Boy  was  in  great  de- 
mand at  the  dance. 

Pretty  Mrs.  Fielden,  who  had  driven  over  from 
Stanby,  beautifully  dressed  at  usual,  and  slightly 
amused,  ordered  her  carriage  early,  and  had  merely 
come  to  oblige  those  quaint  old  dears,  the  Miss 
Traceys. 

Even  at  the  house-warming  Mrs.  Fielden  would 
have  considered  it  quite  impossible  to  sit  out  a  dance. 
She  brought  an  elderly  Colonel  with  her,  and  she 
conducted  him  into  a  corner  behind  The  Palm  and 
talked  to  him  there  till  it  was  her  turn  to  dance  with 
the  Vicar.  Had  it  not  been  Mrs.  Fielden,  whose 
position  placed  her  above  criticism,  the  breath  of 
envy  might  have  whispered  that  it  was  hardly  fair 
that  one  couple  should  occupy  the  favourite  sitting- 
out  place — two  drawing-room  chairs  beneath  The 
Palm — to  the  exclusion  of  others.  But  Mrs.  Fielden 
being  who  she  was,  the  young  ladies  of  Stowel  were 
content  to  pass  and  repass  the  coveted  chairs,  and 
to  whisper  admiringly,  "  How  exquisite  she  is  looking 
to-night ! " 

"  Is  there  anything  of  me  left?  "  she  said  to  me, 
22 


A  Lame    Dog's    Diary 

looking  cool  and  unruffled  when  her  dance  with  the 
Vicar  was  over.  She  had  only  made  one  short  turn 
of  the  room  with  him,  and  her  beautiful  dress  and 
her  hair  were  quite  undisturbed. 

"  You  haven't  danced  half  so  conscientiously  as  his 
other  partners  have,"  I  said. 

"  I  wanted  to  talk  about  the  parish,"  said  Mrs. 
Fielden,  "  so  I  stopped.  I  think  I  should  like  to  go 
and  get  cool  somewhere." 

"  I  will  take  you  to  sit  under  The  Palm  again,  as 
Colonel  Jardine  did,"  I  replied,  "  and  you  shall  laugh 
at  all  the  broad  backs  and  flat  feet  of  our  country 
neighbours,  and  hear  everybody  say  as  they  pass 
how  beautiful  you  are." 

Mrs.  Fielden  turned  her  head  towards  me  as  if  to 
speak,  and  I  had  a  sudden  vivid  conviction  that  she 
would  have  told  me  I  was  rude,  had  I  not  been  a 
cripple  with  one  leg. 

We  sat  under  The  Palm.  Mrs.  Fielden  never 
rushes  into  a  conversation.  Presently  she  said: 

"  Why  do  you  come  to  this  sort  of  thing?  It  can't 
amuse  you." 

"  You  told  me  the  other  day,"  I  said,  "  that  I 
ought  to  cultivate  a  small  mind  and  small  interests." 

"  Did  I?  "  said  Mrs.  Fielden  lightly.  "  If  I  think 
one  thing  one  day  I  generally  think  quite  differently 

23 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

a  day  or  two  after.  To-night,  for  instance,  I  think 
it  is  a  mistake  for  you  to  lean  against  the  Miss 
Traceys'  new  blue  walls  and  watch  us  dance." 

"  I'm  not  sure  that  it  isn't  better  than  sitting  at 
home  and  reading  how  well  my  old  regiment  is  doing 
in  South  Africa.  Besides,  you  know,  I  am  writing  a 
diary." 

"  Are  you?  "  said  Mrs.  Fielden. 

"  You  advised  it,"  I  said. 

"Did  I?" 

When  Mrs.  Fielden  is  provoking  she  always  looks 
ten  times  prettier  than  she  does  at  other  times. 

"  A  good  many  people  in  this  little  place,"  I  said, 
"  have  made  up  their  minds  to  do  the  work  that's 
nearest  and  to  help  a  lame  dog  over  stiles.  I  think  I 
should  be  rather  a  brute  if  I  didn't  respond  to  their 
good  intentions." 

"  I  don't  think  they  need  invent  stiles,  though ! " 
said  Mrs.  Fielden  quickly,  "  wood-carving,  and  beat- 
ing brass,  and  playing  the  zither " 

"  I  do  not  play  the  zither,"  I  said. 

"  — are  not  stiles.  They  are  making  a  sort  of 
obstacle  race  of  your  life." 

"  Since  I  have  begun  to  write  the  diary,"  I  said, 
"  I've  been  able  to  excuse  myself  attempting  these 
things,  even  when  tools  are  kindly  brought  to  me. 

24 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

And  so  far  no  one  has  so  absolutely  forgotten  that 
there  is  a  lingering  spark  of  manhood  in  me  as  to 
suggest  that  I  should  crochet  or  do  cross-stitch." 

"  You  know  I  am  going  to  help  you  write  the 
diary,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  "  only  I'm  afraid  I  shall 
have  to  go  to  all  their  tea-parties,  shan't  I,  to  get 
copy?  " 

"  You  will  certainly  have  to  go,"  I  said. 

"  I'm  dreadfully  bored  to-night,  aren't  you?  "  she 
said  confidentially,  and  in  a  certain  radiant  fashion 
as  distant  as  the  Poles  from  boredom.  "  No  one  can 
really  enjoy  this  sort  of  thing,  do  you  think?  It's 
like  being  poor,  or  anything  disagreeable  of  that  sort. 
People  think  they  ought  to  pretend  to  like  it,  but 
they  don't." 

"  I  wish  I  could  entertain  you  better,"  I  said  sulk- 
ily ;  "  but  I'm  afraid  I  never  was  the  least  bit  amus- 
ing." 

Mrs.  Fielden  relapsed  into  one  of  her  odd  little 
silences,  and  I  determined  I  would  not  ask  her  what 
she  was  thinking  about. 

Presently  Colonel  Jardine  joined  us,  and  she  said 
to  him :  "  Please  see  if  you  can  get  my  carriage ;  it 
must  be  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  at  least."  And 
the  next  moment  I  was  made  to  feel  the  egotism  of 
imagining  I  had  been  punished  when  she  bade  me  a 

25 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

charming  "  good-night."  She  smiled  congratula- 
tions on  her  hostesses  on  the  success  of  the  party, 
and  pleaded  the  long  drive  to  Stanby  as  an  excuse  for 
leaving  early.  The  Colonel  wrapped  her  in  a  long, 
beautiful  cloak  of  some  pale  coloured  velvet  and  fur 
— a  sumptuous  garment  at  which  young  ladies  in 
shawls  looked  admiringly — and  Mrs.  Fielden  slipped 
it  on  negligently  and  got  into  her  brougham. 

"  Oh,  how  tired  I  am !  "  she  said. 

"  It  was  pretty  deadly,"  said  the  Colonel.  "  Did 
you  taste  the  claret-cup?"  he  added,  making  a  grim- 
ace in  the  dark. 

"  Oh,  I  found  it  excellent,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden 
quickly. 

Margaret  Jamieson  now  took  the  place  at  the  piano, 
to  enable  the  blind  man  to  go  and  have  some  supper, 
but  having  had  it,  he  slept  so  peacefully  that  no  one 
could  bear  to  disturb  him,  so  between  them  the  young 
ladies  shared  his  duties  till  the  close  of  the  evening. 

Palestrina  had  suggested,  as  a  little  occupation  for 
me,  that  I  should  write  out  programmes  for  the  dance, 
and  I  had  done  so.  Surely  programmes  were  never 
so  little  needed  before!  Every  grown  man  had  left 
the  assembly  long  before  twelve  o'clock  struck,  the 
feebleness  of  the  excuses  for  departing  thus  early 
being  only  equalled  by  the  gravity  with  which  they 

26 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

were  made.  Even  the  lawyer,  who  we  thought  would 
have  remained  faithful  to  the  end,  pleaded  that  since 
he  ricked  his  knee,  he  is  obliged  to  have  plenty  of 
rest.  The  Pirate  Boy  had  had  some  bitter  words 
with  the  lawyer  at  a  previous  stage  in  the  evening, 
about  the  way  in  which  the  lancers  should  be  danced, 
and  had  muttered  darkly,  "  I  won't  make  a  disturb- 
ance in  a  lady's  house,  but  I  have  seen  a  fellow  called 
out  for  less."  He  considered  that  the  lawyer  was 
running  away,  unable  to  bear  his  cold,  keen  eye  upon 
him  during  the  next  lancers,  and  he  watched  him 
depart,  standing  at  the  head  of  the  tiny  staircase 
beneath  the  display  of  bunting  with  his  arms  folded 
in  a  Napoleonic  attitude. 

All  good  things  come  to  an  end,  and  even  the  Vicar 
of  Stowel  must  have  felt  that  there  are  limits  to  the 
most  conscientious  energy.  And  girls,  dancing  with 
each  other,  learned  perhaps  that  the  merriment 
caused  by  acting  as  a  man  is  not  altogether  lasting ; 
while  elderly  young  ladies,  although  agreed  in  smiling 
to  the  very  end,  must  be  aware  how  fixed  in  expres- 
sion such  a  smile  may  become  towards  the  end  of  a 
long  evening. 

Good-nights  were  said,  and  carriages  were  called 
up  with  a  good  deal  of  unnecessary  shouting,  while 
the  Pirate  Boy  insisted  in  going  to  the  heads  of  the 

27 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

least  restive  horses,  and  soothing  them,  in  a  way 
which  he  said  he  had  learned  from  those  Gaucho 
fellows  out  there. 

I  have  never  been  able  to  tell  what  the  Miss  Tra- 
ceys  thought  about  their  dance.  If  they  were  dis- 
appointed the  world  was  not  allowed  to  probe  that 
tender  spot.  Possibly  they  were  satisfied  with  its 
success ;  the  proprietary  instinct  of  admiration  ap- 
plies to  entertainments  as  well  as  to  tangible  posses- 
sions, but  that  satisfaction,  if  it  existed,  was  modestly 
veiled — the  house-warming  was  less  discussed  by 
them  than  by  anyone  else.  Miss  Ruby  spoke  rather 
wistfully  one  day  about  simple  pleasures  being  the 
best  and  safest  after  all,  and  she  alluded,  with  a 
sigh,  to  the  time  which  must  come  some  day  when 
she  would  be  no  longer  young.  Miss  Tracey  drew 
herself  up  and  said :  "  A  woman  is  only  as  old  as 
she  looks,  my  dear,"  and  glanced  admiringly  at  her 
sister. 

The  diluted  Essence  of  Claret-cup  was  bottled,  and 
formed  a  nice  light  luncheon  wine  at  the  Miss  Tra- 
ceys'  for  many  weeks  afterwards.  The  furniture 
was  brought  down  from  the  spare  bedroom  by  the 
maids  who  walked  the  heaviest  pieces  in  front  of 
them  with  a  curious  tip-toeing  movement  of  the  cas- 
tors of  the  several  easy-chairs.  The  art  tiles  in  the 

28 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

grate  were  cleared  of  their  faded  burden  of  ever- 
green, and  The  Palm  was  carried  into  the  bay 
window  where  it  could  be  seen  from  the  road. 

I  drove  over  to  see  Mrs.  Fielden  and  to  ask  her  if 
she  thought  I  had  been  a  sulky  brute  at  the  dance. 

"  Were  you?  "  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  lifting  her  pretty 
dark  eyebrows ;  "  I  forget." 


Chapter  II 

PALESTEINA  and  I  live  in  the  country,  and  whenever 
we  are  dull  or  sad,  like  the  sailors  in  Mr.  Gilbert's 
poem,  we  decide  that  our  neighbourhood  is  too 
deadly  uninteresting,  and  then  we  go  and  see  the 
Jamiesons.  They  are  our  nearest  neighbours,  as 
they  are  also  amongst  our  greatest  friends,  and  the 
walk  to  their  house  is  a  distance  that  I  am  able  to 
manage.  I  believe  that  our  visits  to  the  Jamiesons 
are  most  often  determined  by  the  state  of  the  weather. 
If  we  have  passed  a  long  wet  day  in  doors,  I  feel  that 
it  is  going  to  be  a  Jamieson  day,  and  I  know  that 
my  sister  will  say  to  me  after  tea,  "  Suppose  we  go 
over  and  see  the  Jamiesons ; "  and  she  generally  adds 
that  it  is  much  better  than  settling  down  for  the 
evening  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

I  do  not  think  that  Palestrina  was  so  sociable  a 
young  woman,  nor  did  she  see  so  much  of  her  neigh- 
bours before  I  came  home  an  invalid  from  South 
Africa — I  got  hit  in  the  legs  at  Magersfontein,  and 
had  the  left  one  taken  off  in  the  hospital  at  Wynberg 
— but  she  believes,  no  doubt  rightly,  that  the  variety 
that  one  gets  by  seeing  one's  fellow-men  is  good  for 

30 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

a  poor  lame  dog  who  lies  on  a  sofa  by  the  fire  the 
greater  part  of  the  day,  and  wishing  he  could  grow 
another  leg  or  feel  fit  again. 

Acting  upon  this  unalterable  conviction  of  my 
sister,  we  drive  about  in  the  afternoons  and  see  people, 
and  they  come  and  see  me  and  suggest  occupations  for 
me.  In  Lent  I  had  a  more  than  usual  number  of 
callers,  which  says  much  for  the  piety  of  the  place, 
as  well  as  for  the  goodness  of  heart  of  its  inhabit- 
ants. 

There  is  a  slight  coolness  between  what  is  known 
as  the  "  County  "  and  the  Jamiesons,  and  their  name 
is  never  mentioned  without  the  accompanying  piece 
of  information,  "  You  know,  old  Jamieson  married 
his  cook ! "  To  be  more  exact,  Mrs.  Jamieson  was  a 
'  small  farmer's  daughter,  and  Captain  Jamieson  fell 
in  love  with  her,  when,  having  left  the  army,  he  went 
to  learn  practical  farming  at  old  Higgins's,  and  he 
loved  her  faithfully  to  the  day  of  his  death.  She  is 
a  stout,  elderly  woman  who  speaks  very  little,  but 
upon  whom  an  immense  amount  of  affection  seems 
to  be  lavished  by  her  family  of  five  daughters  and 
two  sons.  And  it  has  sometimes  seemed  to  my  sister 
and  me  that  her  good  qualities  are  of  a  lasting  and 
passive  sort,  which  exist  in  large  measure  in  the 
hearts  of  those  who  bestow  this  boundless  aifection. 

31 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

Mrs.  Jamieson's  form  of  introducing  herself  to  any- 
one she  meets  consists  in  giving  an  account  of  the 
last  illness  and  death  of  her  husband.  There  is 
hardly  a  poultice  which  was  placed  upon  that  poor 
man  which  her  friends  have  not  heard  about.  And 
when  she  has  finished,  in  her  flat,  sad  voice,  giving 
every  detail  of  his  last  disorder,  Mrs.  Jamieson's 
conversation  is  at  an  end.  She  has  learned,  no 
doubt  unconsciously,  to  gauge  the  characters  of  new 
acquaintances  by  the  degree  of  interest  which  they 
evince  in  Captain  Jamieson's  demise.  It  is  Mrs. 
Jamieson's  test  of  their  true  worth. 

Of  the  other  sorrow  which  saddened  a  nature  that 
perhaps  was  never  very  gay  Mrs.  Jamieson  rarely 
speaks.  Possibly  because  she  thinks  of  it  more  than 
of  anything  else  in  the  world.  Among  her  eight 
children  there  was  only  one  who  appeared  to  his 
mother  to  combine  all  perfection  in  himself.  He 
was  killed  by  an  accident  in  his  engineering  works 
seven  years  ago,  and  although  his  friends  will,  per- 
haps, only  remember  him  as  a  stout  young  fellow 
who  sang  sea  songs  with  a  distended  chest,  his  mother 
buried  her  heart  with  him  in  his  grave,  and  even  the 
voice  of  strangers  is  lowered  as  they  say,  "  She  lost 
a  son  once." 

The  late  Captain  Jamieson,  a  kindly,  shrewd  man 
32 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

and  a  Scotchman  withal,  was  agent  to  Mrs.  Fielden, 
widow  of  the  late  member  for  Stanby,  and  when  he 
died  his  income  perished  with  him,  and  The  Family 
of  Jamieson — a  large  one,  as  has  been  told — were 
thankful  enough  to  subsist  on  their  mother's  inheri- 
tance of  some  four  or  five  hundred  a  year,  bequeathed 
to  her  by  the  member  of  the  non-illustrious  house  of 
Higgins,  late  farmer,  deceased.  It  is  a  hospitable 
house,  for  all  its  narrow  means,  and  there  live  not, 
I  believe,  a  warmer-hearted  or  more  generous  family 
than  these  good  Jamiesons.  The  girls  are  energetic, 
bright  and  honest;  their  slender  purses  are  at  the 
disposal  of  every  scoundrel  of  the  parish,  and  their 
time,  as  well  as  their  boundless  energy,  are  devoted 
to  the  relief  of  suffering  or  to  the  betterment  of  man- 
kind. 

Mrs.  Fielden  is  of  the  opinion  that  nothing  gives 
one  a  more  perfect  feeling  of  rest  than  going  to 
Belmont,  as  the  Jamiesons'  little  house  is  called,  and 
watching  them  work.  She  calls  it  the  "  Rest  Cure." 
Every  one  of  the  five  sisters,  except  Maud,  who  is 
the  beauty  of  The  Family,  wears  spectacles,  and 
behind  these  their  bright,  intelligent  small  eyes  glint 
with  kindness  and  brisk  energy.  The  worst  feature 
of  this  excellent  family  is  their  habit  of  all  talking  at 
the  same  time,  in  a  certain  emphatic  fashion  which 

33 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

renders  it  difficult  to  catch  what  each  individual  is 
saying,  and  this  is  especially  the  case  when  three  of 
the  sisters  are  driving  sewing-machines  together. 
They  have  a  genius  for  buying  remnants  of  woollen 
goods  at  a  small  price  and  converting  them  into 
garments  for  the  poor,  and  their  first  question  often 
is,  as  they  hold  a  piece  of  flannel  or  serge  triumph- 
antly aloft,  "  What  do  you  think  I  gave  for  that?  " 
Palestrina  always  names  at  least  twice  the  sum  that 
has  purchased  the  goods,  and  has  thereby  gained  a 
character  for  being  dreadfully  extravagant  but  sym- 
pathetic. 

"  I  do  not  believe,"  I  said  to  Palestrina  the  other 
day,  "  that  these  good  Jamiesons  have  a  thought  be- 
sides making  other  people  happy." 

"  That  and  getting  married  are  the  sole  objects  of 
their  existence,"  said  Palestrina. 

"  It  is  very  odd,"  I  said,  "  that  women  so  devoid  of 
what  might  be  called  sentiment  are  yet  so  bent  upon 
this  very  thing." 

"  Eliza  told  me  to-day,"  said  Palestrina,  "  that  as 
Kate  has  not  mentioned  one  single  man  in  her  letters 
home  they  cannot  help  thinking  that  there  is  some- 
thing in  it." 

The  Jamiesons  have  the  same  vigorous,  energetic 
ideas  about  matrimony  that  they  have  about  every- 

34 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

thing  else,  and  almost  their  sole  grievance,  naively 
expressed,  is  that  Maud,  "  who  gets  them  all " — 
meaning,  I  believe,  offers  of  marriage — is  the  only 
one  of  The  Family  who  is  unable  to  make  up  her 
mind  clearly  on  this  momentous  question. 

"  We  should  not  mind,"  say  the  conclave  of  sisters 
during  one  of  the  numerous  family  discussions  on 
this  subject,  "  even  if  she  does  get  all  the  admirers, 
for,  of  course,  she  is  the  pretty  one,  if  only  she  would 
accept  one  of  them.  But  she  always  gets  undecided 
and  silly  as  soon  as  they  come  to  the  point." 

It  should  be  noted  in  passing  that  the  different 
stages  of  development  in  love  affairs  is  shrewdly 
noted  and  commented  upon  by  the  Jamiesons.  The 
first  evidence  of  a  man's  preference  is  that  he  "  is 
struck  " ;  and  the  second,  when  he  begins  to  visit  at 
the  house,  is  known  as  "  hovering."  An  inquiry  after 
Maud's  health  will  sometimes  elicit  the  unexpected 
reply  that  another  admirer  is  hovering  at  present. 
The  third  stage  is  reached  when  the  lover  is  said  to 
be  "  dangling,"  and  the  final  triumph,  when  Maud 
has  received  a  proposal,  is  noted  as  having  "  come  to 
the  point." 

If  Maud's  triumphs  are  watched  with  small  sighs 
of  envy  by  her  sisters,  they  are  a  source  of  nothing 
but  gratification  to  them  to  retail  to  the  outside 

35 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

world.  There  is  a  strict  account  kept  of  Maud's 
"  conquests  "  in  the  letters  sent  to  relatives,  and  the 
evening's  post  will  sometimes  contain  the  startling 
announcement  that  Maud  has  had  her  fifth  in  one 
year. 

"  Of  course,  you  know  how  fond  we  all  are  of  each 
other,"  said  Eliza  Jamieson  to  me  one  day  with  one 
of  those  unexpected  confidences  which  the  effeminacy 
of  sickness  seems  to  warrant  if  not  actually  to  invite, 
"  but  we  can't  help  thinking  that,  humanly  speaking, 
we  should  all  have  a  better  chance  if  only  Maud  would 
marry.  No  one  would  wish  her  to  marry  without 
love,  but  we  fear  she  is  looking  for  perfection,  and 
that  she  will  never  get,  and  it  was  really  absurd  of 
her  to  be  so  upset  when  she  discovered,  after  nearly 
getting  engaged  to  Mr.  Reddy,  that  he  wore  a  wig. 
After  all,  a  man  may  be  a  good  Christian  in  spite  of 
having  no  hair." 

"  That  is  undoubtedly  a  fact,"  I  said  warmly. 

"  And  Mr.  Reddy  had  excellent  prospects,"  said 
Eliza,  "  although  perhaps  nothing  very  tangible  at 
present.  Then  there  was  Albert  Gore,  to  whom  one 
must  admit  Maud  gave  every  encouragement,  and  we 
had  begun  to  think  it  quite  hopeful,  but  just  at  the 
end  she  discovered  that  she  could  not  care  for  anyone 
called  Albert,  which  was  too  silly." 

36 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

"  She  might  have  called  him  Bertie,"  I  suggested. 

"  Yes,"  said  Eliza  eagerly ;  "  and  you  see,  none  of 
us  hope  or  expect  to  marry  a  man  who  has  not  some 
of  these  little  drawbacks,  so  I  really  do  not  see  why 
Maud  should  expect  it." 

Five  matrimonial  alliances  in  one  family  are,  per- 
haps, not  easily  arranged  for  in  a  quiet  country 
neighbourhood,  yet  there  is  always  a  hopeful  tone 
about  these  family  discussions,  and  it  is  very  com- 
mon to  hear  the  Miss  Jamiesons  relate  at  length  what 
they  intend  to  do  when  they  are  married. 

And  there  is  yet  another  maiden  to  be  arranged 
for  in  the  little  house.  Mettle  is  the  Jamiesons'  cousin 
who  lives  with  them,  and  I  believe  that  what  appeals 
to  me  most  strongly  regarding  the  excellence  of  this 
unknown  provincial  family,  is  their  kindness  to  the 
little  shrunken,  tiresome  cousin  who  shares  their 
home.  Mettie  is  like  some  strange,  little,  bright  bird, 
utterly  devoid  of  intelligence,  and  yet  with  the  alert- 
ness of  a  sparrow.  Her  beady  eyes  are  a-twinkle  in 
a  restless  sort  of  way  all  day  long,  and  her  large,  thin 
nose  has  always  the  appearance  of  having  the  skin 
stretched  unpleasantly  tightly  across  it.  The  good 
Jamiesons  never  seem  to  be  ruffled  by  her  presence 
among  them,  and  this  forbearance  certainly  com- 
mands one's  respect.  Mettie  travesties  the  Jamie- 

37 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

sons  in  every  particular.  She  has  adopted  their 
matrimonial  views  with  interest,  and  she  utters  little 
platitudes  upon  the  subject  with  quite  a  surprising 
air  of  sapience.  One  avoids  being  left  alone  with 
Mettie  whenever  it  is  possible  to  do  so,  for,  gentle 
creature  though  she  is,  her  remarks  are  so  singularly 
devoid  of  interest  that  one  is  often  puzzled  to  under- 
stand why  they  are  made.  Yet  I  see  one  or  other  of 
the  Jamiesons  walk  to  the  village  with  her  every 
day — her  little  steps  pattering  beside  their  giant 
strides,  while  the  bird-like  tongue  chirps  gaily  all  the 
way. 

Every  one  in  our  little  neighbourhood  walks  into 
the  village  every  day ;  it  is  our  daily  dissipation ;  and 
frivolous  persons  have  been  known  to  go  twice  or 
three  times.  On  days  when  Palestrina  thinks  that 
I  am  getting  moped  she  steals  the  contents  of  my 
tobacco-jar,  and  then  says,  without  blushing,  that 
she  has  discovered  that  my  tobacco  is  all  gone,  and 
that  we  had  better  walk  into  the  village  together  and 
get  some  more.  When  I  am  in  a  grumpy  mood,  I 
reply :  "  It's  all  right,  thank  you,  I  have  plenty  up- 
stairs." But  it  generally  ends  in  my  taking  the  walk 
with  my  sister. 

Our  house  is  pleasantly  situated  where,  by  peeping 
through  a  tangle  of  shrubs  and  trees,  we  can  see  the 

38 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

lazy  traffic  of  the  high-road  that  leads  to  the  village. 
Strangers  pause  outside  the  screen  of  evergreens 
sometimes  and  peep  between  the  branches  to  see  the 
quaint  gables  of  the  old  house.  Its  walls  have  turned 
to  a  soft  yellow  colour  with  old  age,  and  its  beams 
are  of  oak,  gray  with  exposure  to  the  storms  of  many 
winters — a  venerable  house,  a  little  bent  by  years, 
but  mellow  with  kindly  memories  and  full  of  a  de- 
lightful serenity  and  peace.  In  summer-time  the 
garden  paths  round  the  house  are  bordered  with 
flowers,  and  there  is  a  tangle  of  pink  and  white  may 
and  yellow  laburnam  on  the  lawn;  and  a  clinging 
wisteria,  ages  old,  stretches  its  kindly  arms  across 
the  silvering  oak  beams  of  the  house,  and  hangs  out 
pale  brown  clusters  of  buds  and  leaves  in  spring- 
time. Wandering  sometimes  in  the  fields  that  stretch 
at  the  back  of  the  house,  it  looks  almost  as  though 
its  old  walls  were  buried  in  blossom,  and  its  red  roof, 
which  is  not  perched  on  the  top  of  the  walls  like  a 
hat,  but  comes  down  warm  and  snug,  and  enveloping 
like  a  winter  cloak,  glows  with  warmth  amidst  snowy 
orchards  of  cherry  blossom. 

And  the  inside  of  the  house  always  seems  to  me  as 
pleasant  as  the  outside.  The  low  rooms  are  quaintly 
panelled  and  corniced,  and  the  wide  hall,  where  we 
always  sit  with  its  rugged  pavement  of  square  red 

39 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

tiles,  takes  wonderful  shades  of  colour  upon  it  when 
the  westering  sun  shines  in  at  the  deep  window 
through  its  greenish  panes  of  old-fashioned  flexible 
talc.  The  shadows  on  the  red  tiles  are  blue-gray  in 
colour  and  they  move  with  the  movements  of  the  trees 
outside,  showing  patches  of  broken  light  diffused 
between  them,  warmer  by  contrast  with  these  blue- 
gray  shadows  which  move  so  noiselessly  across  them. 
"  This  old  hall  of  yours  is  much  too  dark,"  Mrs. 
Fielden  said,  when  she  came  to  call  the  other  day, 
muffled  up  in  velvet  and  fur.  She  lighted  the  dull 
afternoon  by  something  that  is  radiant  and  holiday- 
like  about  her,  and  left  us  envying  her  for  being  so 
pretty  and  so  young  and  gay.  "  Oh,  I  know,"  she 
said  in  her  whimsical  way,  "  that  it's  Jacobean  and 
early  Tudor  and  all  sorts  of  delightful  things,  but  it 
isn't  very  cheerful,  you  know.  I'm  so  glad  it's  near 
the  road;  I  think  if  I  built  a  house  I  should  like  it 
to  be  in  Mansion  House  Square,  or  inside  a  railway- 
station.  Don't  you  love  spending  a  night  at  a  station 
hotel?  I  always  ask  for  a  room  overlooking  the  plat- 
form, for  I  like  the  feeling  of  having  the  trains  run- 
ning over  me  all  night.  I  love  your  house  really," 
she  said,  "  only  I'm  afraid  it  preaches  peace  and 
resignation,  and  all  those  things  which  I  consider  so 
wrong." 

40 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

Since  I  have  been  laid  up  I  have  been  recom- 
mended to  carve  wood,  to  beat  brass,  to  stuff  sofa- 
cushions,  and  to  play  the  zither;  but  these  things 
do  not  amuse  me  much.  It  was  Mrs.  Fielden  who 
suggested  that  I  should  write  a  diary. 

"  You  must  grumble,"  she  said,  raising  her  pretty 
eyebrows  in  the  affected  way  she  has.  "  It  wouldn't 
be  human  if  you  didn't,  so  why  not  write  a  diary, 
and  have  a  real  good  grumble  on  paper  every  night 
when  you  go  to  bed.  Of  course,  if  I  were  in  your 
place  I  should  grumble  all  day  instead,  and  go  to 
sleep  at  night.  But  I'm  not  the  least  bit  a  resigned 
person.  If  anything  hurts  me  I  scream  at  once; 
and  if  there  is  anything  I  don't  like  doing  I  leave  it 
alone.  Palestrina,"  she  said  to  my  sister,  "  don't  let 
him  be  patient ;  it's  so  bad  for  him." 

Palestrina  smiled,  and  said  she  was  afraid  it  was 
very  dull  for  me  sometimes. 

"  But  if  one  is  impatient  enough,  one  can't  be 
dull,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden.  "  It's  like  being  cross " 

"  I  am  constitutionally  dull,"  I  said.  "  I  used  to 
be  known  as  the  dullest  man  in  my  regiment." 

"  You  studied  philosophy,  didn't  you?  "  said  Mrs. 
Fielden.  "  That  must  be  so  depressing." 

I  was  much  struck  by  this  suggestion.  "  I  dare- 
say you  are  quite  right,"  I  said,  "  although  I  had 

41 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

not  seen  it  in  that  light  before.  But  I'm  afraid  it 
has  not  made  me  very  patient,  nor  given  me  a  great 
mind." 

"  Of  course,  what  you  want  just  now,"  said  Mrs. 
Fielden  gravely,  "  is  a  little  mind.  You  must  lie 
here  on  your  sofa,  and  take  a  vivid  interest  in  what 
all  the  old  ladies  say  when  they  come  to  call  on 
Palestrina.  And  you  must  know  the  price  of  Mrs. 
Taylor's  last  new  hat,  and  how  much  the  Traceys 
spend  on  their  washing-bill,  and  you  must  put  it 
all  down  in  your  diary.  I'll  come  over  and  help 
you  sometimes,  and  write  all  the  wicked  bits  for 
you,  only  I'm  afraid  no  one  ever  is  wicked  down 
here." 

"  Good-bye,"  she  said,  holding  out  the  smallest, 
prettiest,  most  useless-looking  little  hand  in  the 
world.  "  And  please,"  she  added  earnestly,  "  get  all 
this  oak  painted  white,  and  hang  some  nice  muslin 
curtains  in  the  windows." 

Kindly  folk  in  Stowel  are  always  ingenuously  sur- 
prised at  anyone  caring  to  live  in  the  country;  and 
although  it  is  but  a  mile  from  here  to  the  vestry 
hall,  and  much  less  by  the  fields,  they  often  question 
us  whether  we  do  not  feel  lonely  o'  nights,  and  they 
are  of  the  opinion  that  we  should  be  better  in  "  town." 
They  frequently  speak  of  going  into  the  country  for 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

change  of  air  or  on  Bank  Holidays ;  but  considering 
that  the  last  house  in  the  village — and,  like  the  City  of 
Zoar,  it  is  but  a  little  one — is  built  amongst  fields, 
it  might  be  imagined  that  these  rural  retreats  could 
readily  be  found  without  the  trouble  of  hiring  the 
four-wheeled  dog-cart  from  the  inn  or  taking  a  jour- 
ney by  train.  Yet  an  expedition  into  the  country 
is  often  talked  of  as  being  a  change,  and  friends  and 
relations  living  outside  the  town  are  considered  a 
little  bit  behind  hand  in  their  views  of  things — "  old- 
fashioned  "  we  call  it  in  Stowel — and  these  country 
cousins  are  visited  with  just  a  touch  of  kindly  con- 
descension by  the  dwellers  in  a  flower-bordered,  tree- 
shadowed  High  Street. 

One  is  brought  rather  quaintly  into  immediate 
correspondence  with  the  domestic  concerns  of  every- 
one in  Stowel,  and  Palestrina  has  been  coaching  me 
in  the  etiquette  of  the  place.  It  is  hardly  correct  to 
do  any  shopping  at  dinner-time,  when  the  lady  of 
the  house,  busy  feeding  her  family,  has  to  be  called 
from  the  inner  parlour,  where  that  family  may  all  be 
distinctly  seen  from  the  shop.  Driving  or  walking 
through  Stowel  at  the  hour  thus  consecrated  by 
universal  consent  to  gastronomy,  one  might  almost 
imagine  that  it  was  a  deserted  village.  Even  the 
dogs  have  gone  inside  to  get  a  bone;  and  one  says 

43 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

as  one  walks  down  the  empty  streets,  "  Stowel 
dines." 

When  a  shop  is  closed  on  Thursday,  which  is 
early  closing  day,  one  can  generally  "  be  obliged  "  by 
ringing  at  the  house-bell,  and,  under  conduct  of  the 
master  of  the  place,  may  enter  the  darkened  shop  by 
the  side-door,  and  be  accommodated  with  the  pur- 
chase that  one  requires.  For  the  old  custom  still 
holds  of  living — where  it  seems  most  natural  for  a 
merchant  to  live — in  the  place  where  he  does  his 
business.  There  is  a  pleasurable  feeling  of  excite- 
ment even  in  the  purchase  of  a  pot  of  Aspinal's 
enamel  behind  closed  shutters,  and  this  is  mingled 
with  a  feeling  of  solemnity  and  privilege,  which  I 
can  only  compare  in  its  mixed  effect  upon  me  to 
going  behind  the  scenes  of  a  theatre,  or  to  being 
permitted  to  enter  the  vestry  of  a  church. 

Any  purchases,  except  those  which  may  be  called 
necessaries,  are  seldom  indulged  in  in  our  little  town. 
A  shop  which  contains  anything  but  dress  and  pro- 
visions has  few  customers,  and  its  merchandize  be- 
comes household  fixtures.  I  called  at  the  furniture 
shop  the  other  day;  the  place  looked  bare  and  un- 
familiar to  me,  but  I  did  not  realize  what  was  amiss 
until  my  sister  exclaimed,  "Where  is  the  sofa?" 
The  sofa  had  been  for  sale  for  fifteen  years,  and  had 

44 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

at  last  been  purchased.  There  are  other  things  in  the 
shop  which  I  think  must  have  been  there  much 
longer,  and  I  believe  their  owner  would  part  with 
them  with  regret,  even  were  a  very  fair  profit  to  be 
obtained  for  them.  Palestrina  tells  me  she  ordered 
some  fish  the  other  day,  and  was  met  with  the 
objection  that  "  I  fear  that  piece  will  be  too  big  for 
your  fish-kettle,  ma'am,"  although  she  had  never 
suspected  that  the  size  of  her  fish-kettle  was  a  matter 
that  was  known  to  the  outside  world. 

And  yet  Stowel  prides  itself  more  upon  its  reserve 
than  upon  anything  else,  except  perhaps  its  gentility. 
There  is  a  distinct  air  of  mystery  over  any  and 
every  one  of  the  smallest  affairs  of  daily  life  in  the 
little  place,  and  I  hardly  think  that  our  neighbours 
would  really  enjoy  anything  if  it  were  "  spoken 
about "  before  the  proper  time.  There  is  something 
of  secrecy  in  the  very  air  of  the  town.  No  one,  I  am 
told,  has  ever  been  known  to  mention,  even  casually, 
what  he  or  she  intends  to  have  for  dinner;  and  the 
butcher  has  been  warned  against  calling  across  the 
shop  to  the  lady  at  the  desk  "  two  pounds  of  rump- 
steak  for  Miss  Tracey,"  or  "  one  sirloin,  twelve  two, 
for  the  Hall."  Mr.  Tomsett,  who  was  the  first 
butcher  to  introduce  New  Zealand  mutton  to  the 
inhabitants  of  Stowel,  lost  his  custom  by  this  vulgar 

45 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

habit  of  assorting  his  joints  in  public.  And  Miss 
Tracey,  who  knew  him  best  (he  was  still  something 
of  a  stranger,  having  been  in  Stowel  only  five  years), 
warned  him  that  that  was  not  the  sort  of  thing  we 
were  accustomed  to.  "  If  you  must  make  our  private 
concerns  public  in  this  way,"  she  said,  "  at  least  it 
cannot  be  necessary  to  mention  in  what  country  the 
mutton  was  raised." 

It  is  even  considered  a  little  indelicate  to  remain 
in  the  postoffice  when  a  telegram  is  being  handed  in. 
And  parcels  addressed  and  laid  on  the  counter  at  the 
grocer's,  although  provocative  of  interest,  are  not 
even  glanced  at  by  the  best  people. 

On  the  authority  of  my  sister,  I  learn  that  when 
the  ladies  of  Stowel  do  a  little  dusting  in  the  morning 
the  front  blinds  are  pulled  down.  And  keen  though 
the  speculation  may  be  as  to  the  extent  of  our  neigh- 
bours' incomes,  the  subject  is,  of  course,  a  forbidden 
one.  Poor  though  some  of  these  neighbours  are,  a 
very  kindly  charity  prevails  in  the  little  town.  When 
the  elder  Miss  Blind  was  ill,  as  she  very  often  is, 
poor  thing!  it  might  seem  a  matter  of  coincidence 
to  the  uninitiated  that  during  that  week  every  one  of 
her  friends  happened  to  make  a  little  strong  soup,  a 
portion  of  which  was  sent  to  the  invalid — just  in 
case  she  might  fancy  it;  while  the  Miss  Traceys, 

46 


A  Lame   Dog's    Diary 

who,  as  all  the  world  knew,  had  inherited  a  little 
wine  from  their  father,  the  late  Vicar  of  the  parish, 
sent  their  solitary  remaining  bottle  of  champagne, 
with  their  compliments,  to  Miss  Belinda.  The 
champagne  proved  flat  after  many  a  year  of  storage 
in  the  lower  cupboard  of  Miss  Tracey's  pantry,  but 
the  two  sisters  to  whom  it  was  sent,  not  being 
familiar  with  the  wine,  did  not  detect  its  faults,  and 
the  green  bottle  with  the  gilt  neck  was  left  casually 
standing  about  for  weeks  afterwards,  from  an  inno- 
cent desire  to  impress  their  neighbours  with  its 
magnificence. 

Palestrina,  with  the  good  intention,  I  believe,  of 
providing  me  with  what  she  calls  an  object  for  a 
walk,  asked  me  to  call  and  inquire  for  Miss  Blind  on 
the  day  that  the  bottle  of  champagne  was  drawn  and 
sampled.  Miss  Lydia  was  in  the  sick-room,  and 
Mrs.  Lovekin,  who  had  called  to  inquire,  was  sitting 
in  the  little  parlour  when  I  entered.  "  How  do  you 
do?  "  she  said.  "  I  suppose  you  have  heard  that 
Belinda  has  brought  up  the  champagne  ?  " 

The  reproachful  note  in  Mrs.  Lovekin's  voice, 
which  seemed  to  tax  the  invalid  with  ingratitude, 
negatived  one's  first  impression  that  Miss  Belinda 
had  been  down  to  the  cellar  for  the  wine. 


Chapter  III 

IT  is  a  subject  of  burning  curiosity  with  every  woman 
in  Stowel  to  know  whether  it  is  a  fact  that  the  Tay- 
lors have  taken  to  having  late  dinner  instead  of 
supper  since  Mrs.  Taylor's  uncle  was  made  a  K.C.B. 
There  was  something  in  a  remark  which  Miss 
Frances  Taylor  made  which  distinctly  suggested 
that  such  a  change  had  been  effected,  but  Stowel,  on 
the  whole,  inclined  to  discredit  the  rumour.  A  por- 
trait of  the  General  has  been  made  in  London,  from 
a  photograph  in  uniform  which  Mrs.  Taylor  has  of 
him,  and  it  has  been  framed,  regardless  of  expense, 
by  the  photographer  in  the  High  Street.  Mr.  Taylor 
had  at  one  time  thought  of  having  the  whole  thing 
done  in  London,  but  it  had  been  decided  by  an  over- 
whelming majority  that  it  would  be  only  fair  to  give 
the  commission  to  provide  the  frame  to  someone  in 
our  own  town ;  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Taylor  have  given 
a  permission,  which  amounts  to  a  command,  that 
the  portrait  of  "  Sir  John  "  shall  be  placed  in  the 
window  for  a  week  before  it  is  sent  home  so  that 
Stowel  may  see  it — for  the  Taylors,  it  should  be 
remembered,  do  not  receive  everyone  at  their  own 
house. 

48 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

To-day  I  met  the  elder  Miss  Blind — Miss  Lydia, 
she  is  generally  called — at  the  window  of  the  photog- 
rapher's, to  which  she  had  made  a  pilgrimage,  as 
we  all  intended  to  do,  to  see  the  famous  picture. 
Probably  she  had  stood  there  for  some  time,  for  she 
turned  nervously  towards  me,  and  said,  in  a  tone  of 
apology,  and  with  something  of  an  effort  in  her 
speech :  "  I  used  to  know  him." 

"  Ah !  "  I  replied.  "  I  suppose  he  has  often  been 
down  to  stay  with  the  Taylors?  " 

"  He  has  not  been  once  in  twenty  years,"  said 
Lydia. 

I  was  thinking  of  other  things,  and  I  do  not  know 
why  it  suddenly  struck  me  that  there  was  a  tone  of 
regret,  even  of  hopelessness,  in  Miss  Lydia's  voice, 
and  that  she  spoke  as  one  speaks,  perhaps,  when  one 
has  waited  long  for  something. 

Lydia  Blind  is  a  tall  woman  with  a  slight,  stooping 
figure,  which  suggests  patience.  Sometimes  I  have 
wondered  if  it  is  only  her  sister's  constant  ill-health 
that  has  made  Miss  Lydia  stoop  a  little.  There  is 
something  delicately  precise  about  her,  if  so  gentle  a 
woman  can  fitly  be  described  as  precise.  Perhaps 
her  voice  explains  her  best,  as  a  woman's  voice  will 
often  do;  it  is  low  and  of  a  very  charming  quality, 
although  broken  now  and  then  by  asthma.  Each 

49 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

word  has  its  proper  spacing,  and  does  not  intrude 
upon  the  next ;  each  vowel  possesses  the  rare  charac- 
teristic of  its  proper  sound.  I  have  never  heard  her 
use  an  out-of-the-way  expression ;  but  her  simple  way 
of  speaking  has  an  old-fashioned  gracefulness  about 
it,  and  her  manner,  with  all  its  simplicity,  is  digni- 
fied by  reason  of  its  perfect  sincerity.  Her  eyes  are 
large  and  gray,  and  set  somewhat  far  apart ;  her  hair 
is  worn  in  a  fringe  so  demure  and  smooth,  so  primly 
curled  that  it  has  the  appearance  of  plainly-brushed 
hair.  It  is  Mrs.  Fielden  who  says  that  no  good 
woman  can  do  her  hair  properly,  and  she  wonders  if 
St.  Paul's  recommendations  as  to  plain  braids  has 
for  ever  stamped  the  hairdresser's  profession  as  a 
dangerous  art. 

To-day  when  I  met  Lydia  it  struck  me  suddenly 
to  wonder  how  old  she  is.  Perhaps  something  in 
the  insolent  youthfulness  of  the  spring-time  sug- 
gested the  thought,  or  it  may  have  been  because 
Miss  Lydia  looked  tired. 

When  one  meets  a  friend  in  Stowel  High  Street  it 
is  considered  very  cold  behaviour  merely  to  bow  to 
them.  We  not  only  stop  and  chat  for  a  few  minutes, 
but  it  is  the  friendly  fashion  of  the  place  for  ladies  to 
say  to  each  other,  "  Which  way  are  you  going  ?  " 
and  to  accompany  their  friends  a  little  way  along  the 

50 


A    Lame    Dog's    Diary 

sunny,  uneven  pavement,  while  offers  to  come  in  and 
rest  are  generally  given  and  accepted  at  the  end  of 
the  promenade.  Of  course  it  is  quite  unusual  for 
gentlemen  to  be  detained  in  this  way,  and  I  am  sure 
it  cost  Miss  Lydia  an  effort  to  suggest  to  me  that  I 
should  come  in  and  sit  down  for  a  little  while,  and 
that  she  only  did  so  because  I  seemed  tired.  Also, 
I  think  that  a  man  with  a  crutch,  and  with  but  one 
leg — and  that  one  not  very  sound — is  not  con- 
sidered such  a  source  of  danger  to  ladies  living  alone 
as  a  strong  and  hale  man  is  supposed  to  be.  We 
stopped  at  the  little  green  gate  in  the  village  street, 
with  its  red  flagged  pathway  beyond,  bordered  with 
spring-flowers.  Wall-flowers,  early  blooming  in  this 
warm  and  sheltered  corner,  forget-me-nots  and  prim- 
roses, and  a  brave  yellow  jasmine  starred  with  golden 
flowers  covered  the  walls  of  the  cottage.  I  asked 
after  her  sister's  health,  and  Miss  Lydia  begged  me 
to  come  in  and  rest  for  a  few  minutes,  which  I  did, 
for  I  was  horribly  tired.  But  this  was  one  of  Miss 
Belinda's  bad  days,  and  her  sister,  who  watches 
every  variation  in  colour  in  the  hollow  cheeks  and 
deep-set  eyes  of  the  invalid,  saw  that  she  was  unable 
to  speak,  and  motioned  me  out  of  the  room.  She 
showed  me  into  her  own  little  sanctum  and  gave  me 
a  cushioned  chair  by  the  window  and  said :  "  Do 

51 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

wait  for  a  few  minutes  and  rest.  I  can  see  that  my 
sister  wants  to  say  something  to  me,  but  she  is 
always  more  than  usually  inarticulate  when  she  is  in 
one  of  these  nervous  states." 

I  have  been  thinking  a  good  deal  about  old  maids 
lately — one  has  time  to  think  about  all  manner  of 
subjects  when  one  is  lying  down  most  of  the  day. 
Mrs.  Fielden  is  of  opinion  that  an  old  maid  may 
have  an  exaggerated  sense  of  humour.  To  my  mind 
her  danger  may  be  that  she  is  always  rather  patheti- 
cally satisfied  with  everything.  She  prefers  the  front 
seat  of  a  carriage  and  the  back  seat  of  a  dog-cart, 
and  the  leg  of  a  chicken  and  a  tiny  bedroom. 
Doubtless  this  is  a  form  of  self-respect.  This  suit- 
ability of  tastes  on  the  part  of  an  old  maid  enables 
her  to  say,  as  she  does  with  almost  suspicious  fre- 
quency, that  she  gets  dreadfully  spoiled  wherever  she 
goes.  Adaptability  to  environment  is  the  first  law 
of  existence,  and  yet  there  may  have  been  times  even 
in  the  life  of  an  old  maid  when  she  has  yet  yearned 
for  the  wing  of  a  chicken. 

The  little  room  into  which  Miss  Lydia  ushered  me 
was  plainly  furnished,  but  Miss  Lydia  says  that  she 
is  always  getting  something  pretty  given  to  her  to 
add  to  her  treasures.  Her  room  is,  indeed,  rather 
suggestive  of  a  stationer's  shop  window,  where  a 

52 


A    Lame    Dog's   Diary 

card  with  "  fancy  goods  in  great  variety  "  is  placed. 
It  would  not  be  unkind  to  hint  of  some  of  the  articles 
on  the  table  and  on  the  wall-brackets  that  they  must 
have  been  purchased  more  as  a  kindly  remembrance 
at  Christmas-time  or  on  birthdays,  than  from  any 
apparent  usefulness  to  the  recipient.  There  are 
three  twine-cases,  from  which  the  scissors  have  long 
since  been  abstracted  by  unknown  dishonest  persons ; 
and  there  are  four  ornamental  thermometers,  each 
showing  its  own  fixed  and  unalterable  ideas  regarding 
the  temperature  of  the  room.  A  large  number  of 
unframed  sketches  which  children  have  given  her 
are  fastened  to  the  wall  by  pins,  or  hung  on  tacks, 
whose  uncertain  hold  of  the  walls  bespeaks  a  feminine 
hand  on  the  hammer.  There  are  several  calendars, 
and  there  are  quite  an  uncountable  collection  of 
photograph  frames,  which  fall  over  unless  they  are 
propped  against  something.  Most  of  the  photo- 
graphs are  old  and  faded,  and  they  are  nearly  all  of 
babies:  babies  clothed  and  unclothed;  babies  with 
bare  feet  and  little  night-shirts  on;  babies  sucking 
their  thumbs;  babies  lying  prone  on  fur  carriage- 
rugs;  babies  riding  on  their  mammas'  backs,  or 
sitting  on  their  mammas'  knees;  babies  crowing  or 
crying.  No  one  who  has  a  baby  ever  fails  to  send 
this  maiden  lady  a  photograph  of  it. 

53 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

Miss  Lydia  settled  me  with  some  cushions  in  my 
chair,  and  shut  the  doerway  leading  to  her  bedroom 
beyond,  where  I  caught  sight  of  a  painted  iron  bed- 
stead, and  a  small  indiarubber  hot-water  bottle 
hanging  from  one  of  its  knobs.  It  is  Miss  Lydia's 
most  cherished  possession,  and  she  generally  speaks 
of  it  reverently  as  "  the  comfort  of  my  life." 

Poor  Miss  Lydia !  Hers  must,  I  think,  be  a  lonely 
life  sacrificed  patiently  to  an  invalid  and  almost 
inarticulate  sister,  and  yet  it  is  the  very  solitude  of 
this  little  chamber  which  is  one  of  the  few  privileges 
to  which  she  lays  claim.  It  is  to  this  little  room, 
with  its  humble  furnishings,  that  all  her  troubles  are 
taken,  and  it  is  here  by  the  window  that  she  can  sit 
with  folded  hands  and  think  perhaps  of  something  in 
life  which  surely  poor  Lydia  has  missed.  It  is  here 
she  prays  for  those  whose  sins  weigh  far  more 
heavily  upon  her  than  they  do  upon  themselves,  and 
it  is  here  that  she  can  pause  and  question  with 
gentle  faith  the  perplexities  of  life. 

Miss  Lydia  tells  my  sister  that  she  makes  a 
thorough  examination  of  her  room  every  night  before 
she  goes  to  bed,  to  see  if  there  is  a  burglar  concealed 
anywhere.  The  movable  property  in  the  tiny  house 
is  probably  not  worth  many  pounds,  as  a  pawn- 
broker appraises  things,  and  it  would  be  a  hardened 

54 


A    Lame    Dog's    Diary 

thief  that  could  deprive  the  sisters  of  their  small 
possessions;  but  the  dread  remains — the  dread  of 
burglars  and  the  dread  of  mice.  Were  it  not  for  the 
look  of  the  thing,  she  would  almost  rather  discover  a 
burglar  than  a  mouse — "  for  at  least  burglars  are 
human,"  she  explains,  "  and  one  might  be  able  to 
reason  with  them  or  pray  for  them,  but  who  shall 
control  the  goings  of  a  mouse  ?  " 

Sometimes  the  hours  of  darkness  are  quite  a  terror 
to  Lydia  Blind,  and  she  once  said  that  she  felt  so 
defenceless,  that  she  thought  it  would  be  a  great 
comfort  to  have  a  male  defender  to  protect  her  from 
these  nightly  fears. 

It  is  the  only  improper  remark  she  ever  made,  and 
it  makes  her  blush  in  the  dark  when  she  thinks  of  it. 
She  believes  everyone  remembers  it  with  as  vivid  a 
distinctness  as  she  does,  and  she  trembles  to  think 
what  sort  of  construction  may  have  been  put  upon 
her  words  by  ill-natured  or  thoughtless  persons.  It 
is  a  real  trouble  to  her ;  but  then  all  her  troubles  are 
real,  and  so  are  her  bitter  repentances  over  perfectly 
imaginary  sins.  But  she  has  her  little  room  and  her 
hot-water  bottle — life  has  its  consolations. 


55 


KATE  JAMIESON,  who  is  the  independent  member  of 
The  Family,  and  has  been  in  a  situation  for  some 
years  as  companion  to  a  lady  at  Bath,  has  written 
home  what  she  calls  a  "  joint  letter  "  to  apprise  the 
whole  of  her  family  at  one  and  the  same  time  that 
she  is  engaged  to  be  married.  The  excitement  which 
this  letter  produced  in  the  little  household  is  hardly 
possible  to  describe.  The  news  arrived  when  the 
Jamiesons  were  at  breakfast.  Perhaps  I  should 
mention,  before  going  any  further,  that  the  Jamie- 
sons'  only  extravagance  is  to  take  in  three  daily 
papers.  One  is  an  evening  paper,  which  arrives  at 
breakfast-time,  and  the  other  two  are  morning 
publications,  which  arrive  at  the  same  hour.  It  is 
customary  for  the  members  of  this  Family  each  to 
read  their  own  particular  paper  aloud  during  the 
entire  meal ;  the  rest  of  the  party  read  their  letters  to 
each  other,  and  there  are  still  left  several  voices  to 
demand  what  you  will  have  for  breakfast,  to  inquire 
how  you  have  slept,  and  to  comment  upon  the 
weather.  So  that  from  half -past  eight  until  nine  a 
cross-fire  of  conversation  is  going  on  all  the  time. . . . 

56 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  I  see  Hearne  has  scored  sixty-eight  at  cricket,  not 
out.  That's  not  bad,  you  know.  Kent  ought  to  be 
looking  up.  The  Australians  are  doing  well.  York- 
shire might  do  better.  Extraordinary!  Here's  this 
chap  who  promised  so  well,  bowled  for  a  duck ! " 
This  from  the  eldest  son  of  the  House  of  Jamieson; 
while  at  precisely  the  same  moment  may  be  heard 
the  voice  of  Maud :  "  I  must  say  I  am  rather 
astonished  at  the  way  boleros  have  remained  in.  This 
is  one  of  the  prettiest  designs  I  have  seen  this  year. 
How  soon  one  gets  accustomed  to  small  sleeves. 
Well,  I  cannot  say  I  like  these  Chesterfield  fronts." 

Mrs.  Jamieson  is  meanwhile  reading  aloud  the 
columns  of  births,  deaths,  and  marriages  from  be- 
ginning to  end.  Her  limited  acquaintance  with  the 
outside  world  might  seem  to  preclude  her  from  any 
vivid  interest  in  those  who  must  necessarily  only  be 
names  to  her,  yet  she  finds  subject-matter  for  com- 
ment through  the  entire  perusal  of  the  column. 
Needless  to  say,  Mrs.  Jamieson  inclines  to  regard 
only  the  sadder  aspects  of  these  natural  occurrences, 
and  her  comments  thereupon  are  full  of  a  sort  of 
resigned  melancholy.  From  her  corner  of  the  table 
may  be  heard  the  plaintive  words :  "  Here's  a  young 
fellow  of  twenty-four  taken,"  or,  "  fourscore  years, 
well,  well,  and  then  passed  away ! "  While  the 

57 


A    Lame    Dog's    Diary 

happier  news  of  birth  provokes  her  to  hark  back  to 
an  announcement  of  a  similar  nature  in  the  family, 
perhaps  only  a  year  ago,  and  to  talk  of  the  responsi- 
bilities and  the  expense  that  the  poor  young  couple 
will  have  to  undergo.  Mettie,  who  spends  the  greater 
part  of  every  day  writing  letters,  and  whose  chief 
joy  in  life  is  to  receive  them,  reads  the  whole  of  her 
correspondence  aloud  from  beginning  to  end,  while 
Margaret  Jamieson,  behind  the  teapot,  is  letting  off 
rapid  volleys  of  questions  respecting  individual 
tastes  about  cream  and  sugar,  and  the  Pirate  Boy 
offers  ham  and  eggs  or  sausages  in  a  deep  stentorian 
bass. 

In  the  midst  of  this  confusion  of  noise,  when  only 
a  Jamieson,  whose  ear  is  curiously  trained  to  it,  can 
possibly  hear  what  is  being  said,  Mrs.  Jamieson 
bursts  into  tears,  and,  in  the  strong  Kentish  dialect 
of  her  youth,  exclaims :  "  Here's  our  Kate  going  to 
be  married ! " 

After  the  first  burst  of  delighted  surprise  there  is  a 
family  feeling  of  apology  towards  Maud.  That 
Kate  should  marry  first  is  surely  a  little  disloyal  to 
the  beauty  of  The  Family,  and  Mrs.  Jamieson  goes 
so  far  as  to  say :  "  Never  mind,  Maud,  your  turn  will 
be  the  next." 

After  that  they  all,  singly  and  severally,  recall 

' 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

their  previously  expressed  opinion  that  they  knew 
something  was  up,  and  that  certainly  Kate  could  not 
have  given  them  a  more  pleasant  or  more  unexpected 
surprise. 

The  letter  is  then  read  aloud,  and  it  is  so  long  that 
one  is  glad  to  think  that  the  absent  Kate  did  not 
attempt  to  duplicate  it,  but  contented  herself  with 
the  Pauline  method  of  one  general  epistle.  With 
The  Family  characteristic  of  telling  everything  ex- 
haustively, Kate  writes : 

"  Mr.  Ward  is  not  at  all  bad-looking ;  a  little  blue 
about  the  cheeks,  when  not  particular  about  shaving 
regularly — you  see,  I  am  telling  you  everything  quite 
candidly — but,  of  course,  I  can  remedy  all  these 
defects  when  we  are  married.  He  has  a  short  brown 
moustache,  and  rather  a  conical-shaped  head." 
(This  is  a  fault  that  one  feels  Kate  will  not  be  able 
to  remedy,  even  when  she  has  married  him.)  "  He 
looks  clever,  though  I  do  not  think  he  is,  very;  he 
is  well-connected,  but  does  not  know  all  his  best 
relations.  Poor,  but  with  generous  instincts  " — one 
feels  as  though  a  chiroraancist  were  reading  a 
client's  palm — "  well-read,  but  without  power  of  con- 
veying intelligence  to  others;  hair  thin,  and,  I 
am  afraid,  false  teeth ;  very  religious,  but  I  consider 

59 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

this  in  him  more  temperament  than  anything  else. 
He  has  had  a  hard  life,  and  not  always  enough  to 
eat,  until  his  uncle  died,  but  now  he  could  be  quite 
independent  if  he  liked,  but  he  prefers  the  position 
which  a  Government  appointment  gives  him. 

"  I  hope  to  bring  him  down  to  stay  when  I  return ; 
please  let  him  have  the  south  bedroom,  as  that  is  the 
warmest,  and  I  do  not  think  James  is  very  strong. 
I  should  like  him  to  have  a  fire  at  night — I  can 
arrange  that  with  mother,  as  I  feel  quite  well  off, 
now.  We  are  to  be  married  in  July,  and  I  am  giving 
up  my  post  here  at  once,  so  as  to  see  something  of 
you  all  before  I  go  away." 

At  this  point  the  letter  referred  once  more  to  Mr. 
Ward's  personal  appearance,  and  the  description 
was  of  so  great  length  that  when  Margaret  Jamieson, 
who  had  run  all  the  way  from  her  home  to  ours  to 
give  it  to  us  to  read,  asked  me  breathlessly  what  I 
thought  about  it,  I  determined  to  leave  unread  the 
remaining  paragraphs,  and  to  judge  for  myself  of 
the  bridegroom  when  he  should  come  to  Belmont  and 
we  should  be  invited  to  meet  him. 

"  There  is  one  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Jamieson,  when  at 
the  request  of  The  Family  Palestrina  went  to  sit 
with  her  one  afternoon  a  few  weeks  later  to  support 

60 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

her  through  the  trying  ordeal  of  waiting  for  Kate 
and  "  James,"  as  he  is  now  familiarly  called,  to 
arrive ;  "  the  girls  have  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of  in 
their  home."  She  looked  with  a  certain  amount  of 
pardonable  pride  at  the  clean  white  curtains,  and  we 
gathered  that  we  were  meant  to  comment  upon  their 
early  appearance.  The  white  curtains,  Palestrina 
says,  are  not  usually  put  up  at  Belmont  until  the 
first  week  in  May. 

"  They  look  very  handsome,"  I  said.  It  was  a 
Jamieson  afternoon — very  wet,  but  clearing  up  about 
sundown,  and  Palestrina  had  suggested  my  escorting 
her  as  far  as  Belmont.  But  the  rain  came  down  in 
torrents  again  when  I  would  have  started  to  return 
home,  and  the  good  Jamiesons  begged  me  to  stay, 
to  avoid  the  chance  of  a  chill,  and  to  meet  James. 

"  It  is  the  first  break  in  the  family,"  said  Mrs. 
Jamieson  tearfully,  "  since  poor  Robert  died.  But, 
as  James  says,  he  hopes  I  am  gaining  a  son,  and  not 
losing  a  daughter."  From  which  I  gathered  that 
James  was  a  gentleman  given  to  uttering  rather  a 
stale  form  of  platitude. 

All  were  waiting  in  a  state  of  great  trepidation  the 
arrival  of  the  engaged  couple,  and  it  was  quite  hope- 
less to  avoid  the  encounter,  for  the  rain  descended  in 
sheets  outside,  and  preparations  for  supper  seemed  to 

61 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

be  going  on  in  the  dining-room  at  Belmont.  It  was 
decided,  by  universal  consent,  that  only  Mrs.  Jamie- 
son  and  Palestrina  and  I  should  be  in  the  drawing- 
room  at  the  moment  when  they  should  enter.  The 
presence  of  strangers,  it  was  thought,  would  make  it 
easier  for  James  at  the  meeting  where  all  were  kins- 
folk, except  himself.  With  their  usual  consideration, 
The  Family  decided  that  the  rest  of  their  large 
number  should  afterwards  drop  in  casually,  two  by 
two,  and  be  introduced  to  the  new  brother-in-law 
without  ceremony.  Mrs.  Jamieson,  who  had  not 
left  the  house  that  day,  nor  for  many  days  pre- 
viously, having  been  absorbed  in  preparations  for  the 
expected  guest,  was  dressed  in  a  bonnet  and  her 
favourite  jacket  with  the  storm-collar  which,  as  she 
explained  to  my  sister,  took  away  from  the  roundness 
of  her  face  and  gave  her  confidence. 

Her  habitual  shyness,  added  to  her  fears  of  the 
unknown  in  the  shape  of  the  future  son-in-law,  had 
wrought  her  into  a  sort  of  rigid  state  in  which  con- 
versation seemed  impossible,  and  although  we  did 
our  best  to  divert  her  attention,  I  am  doubtful  if  she 
heard  a  word  we  said. 

"  They  should  be  here  soon,"  I  remarked  pres- 
ently. 

Mrs.  Jamieson,  following  some  line  of  thought  of 
62 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

her  own,  remarked  that  the  first  marriage  in  a  family 
was  almost  like  a  death;  and  to  this  mournful 
analogy  I  gave  assent. 

"  Kate  says  he  is  quite  a  gentleman,"  hazarded 
Mrs.  Jamieson,  still  rigid,  and  now  white  with 
anxiety  and  shyness. 

I  found  myself  replying,  without  overdone  bril- 
liance, that  that  seemed  a  good  thing. 

The  sands  of  Mrs.  Jamieson's  courage  were  run- 
ning very  low.  "  I  hope  he  is  not  one  of  your 
grandees,"  she  said  apprehensively ;  "  I  would  not 
like  to  think  of  Kate  not  being  up  to  him.  But  their 
father  was  a  gentleman — the  most  perfect  gentleman 
I  ever  knew,  and  I  have  always  that  to  think  of. 
Still,  a  gentlemanly  man  is  all  I  want  for  any  of 
my  girls,  with  no  difference  between  the  two  fam- 
ilies." 

Sometimes  in  this  way  Mrs.  Jamieson  gives  one  an 
unexpected  insight  into  the  difficulties  of  her  life, 
and  one  feels  that  even  her  admiration  for  her 
daughters  may  be  tinged  with  a  slight  feeling  of 
being  their  inferior.  I  have  heard  her  say,  making 
use  of  a  French  expression  such  as  she  hazards  so 
courageously,  that  there  is  something  of  the  "grown 
dam  about  Maud  " ;  and  perhaps  the  loyal  admira- 
tion thus  expressed  may  have  been  mingled  with 

63 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

another  sensation,  not  so  pleasurable  to  the  farmer's 
daughter. 

I  endeavoured  to  follow  the  intricacies  of  her  train 
of  thought,  but  the  station  omnibus  had  stopped  at 
the  gate,  and  the  moment  of  supreme  excitement  had 
arrived. 

Kate  entered  first.  This  was  probably  the  crown- 
ing moment  of  her  life.  She  came  in  with  a  little 
air  of  assurance  that  already  suggested  the  married 
woman,  and,  having  kissed  her  mother,  she  said,  in  a 
proprietary  sort  of  way :  "  This  is  Mr.  Ward, 
mamma." 

Mr.  Ward  has  a  curious  way  of  walking  on  his 
toes;  he  came  into  the  room  as  though  tip-toeing 
across  some  muddy  crossing  on  a  wet  day,  and 
shook  hands  with  a  degree  of  nervousness  that  made 
even  Mrs.  Jamieson  appear  bold.  One  can  hardly 
be  surprised  at  Kate  having  mentioned  that  he  has  a 
conical-shaped  head,  for  it  is  of  the  most  strange 
pear-shape,  and  the  sparse  hair  hangs  from  a  ridge 
behind  like  a  fringe.  He  sat  down  and  locked  his 
knees  firmly  together,  with  his  clasped  hands  tightly 
wedged  between  them,  while  Kate  made  inquiries 
about  the  rest  of  the  family,  and  I  plunged  heavily 
into  remarks  about  the  weather,  and  the  state  of  the 
roads.  It  was  a  great  relief  when  two  of  the  sisters 

64 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

entered  in  their  best  silk  blouses,  even  although  they 
repeated  exactly  what  I  had  said  a  moment  before 
about  the  weather  and  the  mud.  Five  minutes 
later,  according  to  preconceived  arrangement,  two 
other  sisters  came  in  and  were  kissed  by  Kate,  and 
introduced  by  her  to  James.  We  had  unconsciously 
taken  up  our  position  in  two  straight  lines  facing 
James,  and  it  was  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  by  this 
time  shyness  was  causing  great  beads  of  perspiration 
to  stand  out  on  poor  James's  pear-shaped  head. 
"  Surely  they  will  spare  him  any  more  introductions 
before  supper,"  I  thought;  but  the  door  had  again 
opened,  and  Mettie  and  Pirate  Boy  entered,  and 
some  unhappy  chance  was  causing  these  last  comers 
to  comment  upon  the  weather  and  the  state  of  the 
roads,  and  to  extend  the  line  of  chairs  now  facing 
James.  We  began  to  make  feverish  little  remarks 
to  each  other,  as  though  we  were  all  strangers,  and 
Palestrina  asked  Eliza  if  she  were  fond  of  dancing. 
George  Jamieson,  the  eldest  brother,  was  the  last  to 
enter  the  room,  and  Kate  said :  *4  George,  I  am  sure 
James  would  like  to  unpack  before  supper ;  "  and  the 
unhappy  James  tip-toed  out  between  the  two  lines  of 
chairs,  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  carpet. 

"  Well?  "  said  Kate.    And  as  The  Family  was  The 
Family  of  Jamieson,  that  of  course  was  a  signal  for 

65 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

each  member  of  it  to  say  the  kindest  thing  that  could 
possibly  be  said  for  the  new  arrival.  Margaret  found 
that  he  had  kind  eyes.  And  Eliza  said :  "  Not  intel- 
lectual, but  a  good  man."  Eliza,  it  must  be  re- 
marked in  passing,  is  the  intellectual  sister,  with  a 
passion  for  accurate  information,  and  for  looking  up 
facts  in  the  "  Encyclopaedia  Britannica."  Maud 
found  that  even  his  shyness  was  in  his  favour,  and 
disliked  men  who  made  themselves  at  home  at  once. 
Mettie  remarked  that  marriage  was  a  great  risk. 
This  is  one  of  poor  little  Mettie's  platitudes,  which 
she  makes  with  faithful  regularity  upon  all  occasions. 
The  Pirate  Boy  preferred,  perhaps,  a  more  robust 
development,  and,  throwing  out  his  own  chest,  he 
beat  it  with  a  good  deal  of  violence,  and  said  he 
would  like  to  put  on  the  gloves  with  Mr.  Ward. 
Mrs.  Jamieson  could  be  got  to  say  nothing  but 
"  Poor  fellow,  poor  fellow ! "  at  intervals.  But 
Gracie,  the  youngest  daughter,  remarked  that  she 
was  sure  that  they  would  all  get  to  like  him  im- 
mensely in  time. 

Kate  looked  grateful,  and  spoke  with  her  usual 
fine  common  sense.  "  What  I  say  is,"  she  remarked, 
"  that  of  course  no  one  sees  James's  faults  more 
clearly  than  I  do,  but  then  I  don't  see  why  any  of  us 
should  expect  perfection.  We  haven't  much  to  offer : 

66 


A   Lame   Dog's    Diary 

I  am  sure  I  have  neither  looks,  nor  money,  nor  any- 
thing. And,  after  all,  it's  nice  to  think  of  one  of  us 
getting  married — and  I  was  no  bother  about  it,"  said 
the  independent  Kate.  "  I  mean,  The  Family  had 
not  to  help,  or  chaperone  me,  or  ask  James  down  to 
stay." 

The  sisters  assented  to  this  in  a  very  hearty,  con- 
gratulatory sort  of  way,  and  then,  as  the  rain  had 
ceased,  I  took  my  leave,  but  Palestrina  was  per- 
suaded to  stay  and  have  supper.  Kennie  offered,  in 
a  doughty  fashion,  to  see  me  home.  The  boy's 
kindness  of  heart  constitutes  him  my  defender  upon 
many  occasions,  and  he  always  looks  disappointed  if 
I  do  not  take  his  arm.  I  do  not  think  that  the 
peaceful  country  road  in  the  waning  twilight  could 
be  considered  a  dangerous  one,  even  to  a  cripple  like 
myself;  but  Kennie,  armed  with  a  large  stick  and 
wearing  a  curious  felt  hat  turned  up  at  one  side, 
appeared  a  most  truculent  defender,  and  regarded 
with  suspicion  all  the  pedestrians  whom  we  met. 
Did  but  a  country  cart  pass  us,  Kennie  made  a  move- 
ment to  ward  off  the  danger  of  a  collision  with  his 
arm.  There  is  something  in  my  helpless  condition 
which,  quite  unconsciously  I  believe,  produces  a  very 
valorous  frame  of  mind  in  the  Pirate,  and  he  be- 
guiled the  whole  of  the  way  home  with  stories  of 

67 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

his  own  prowess,  and  the  hair-breadth  escapes  which 
he  has  had. 

"  I  only  once,"  he  said,  "  had  to  take  a  human  life 
in  self-defence.  Curiously  enough  " — Kennie's  voice 
deepened,  and  he  spoke  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
will  spare  a  weak  fellow-mortal  all  he  can  in  the 
telling  of  his  tale,  and  he  enunciated  all  his  words 
with  a  measured  calm  which  was  very  impressive — 
"  curiously  enough,  it  was  on  the  Thames  Embank- 
ment ! "  Kennie  cleared  his  throat,  and,  dropping 
the  deep  bass  voice  of  reminiscence,  he  began  the 
history  in  a  high-pitched  tone  of  narrative.  "  I  was 
walking  home  alone  one  night  from  the  City,  when  a 
very  strange,  low  fellow  accosted  me  and  asked  me 
for  some  money.  The  man's  destitute  appearance 
appealed  to  me,  and,  unfortunately,  I  gave  him 
threepence.  I  suppose  the  action  was  about  as 
dangerous  a  thing  as  I  could  have  done.  It  showed 
that  I  had  money,  and  I  was  practically  defenceless 
while  feeling  my  pockets.  The  Embankment  at 
that  time  of  the  evening  was  almost  deserted;  I 
could  see  the  shipping  in  the  river  and  the  lights, 
and  even  passing  cabs,  but  I  was  strangely  alone, 
and  still  the  man  followed  me.  At  last,  in  despera- 
tion, I  raised  my  stick  to  drive  him  from  me,  and  the 
next  moment  he  had  grappled  with  me!  Instantly 

68 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

my  blood  was  up ! "  The  Pirate  Boy  stood  still  in 
the  middle  of  the  high-road,  and  went  through  a 
series  of  very  forcible  pantomimic  gestures,  and  with 
awful  facial  contortions,  indicative  of  violent  exer- 
tions, he  raised  some  imaginary  object  above  his 
head  and  flung  it  from  him.  "  The  next  moment," 
said  Kennie,  "  I  heard  a  splash.  I  had  vanquished 
the  man,  and  flung  him  far  from  me,  straight  from 
the  Thames  Embankment  into  the  river." 

I  was  prepared  to  make  an  exclamation,  but  was 
prevented  by  Kennie,  who  said,  in  a  dramatic  sort 
of  way,  "  Wait !  "  and  went  on  with  his  story.  "  My 
instinct  was  to  plunge  after  him,  but  I  heard  no 
sound,  no  cry,  and  from  that  day  to  this  that  strug- 
gle by  the  water's  edge  remains  as  one  of  the  most 
vivid  experiences  of  my  life — in  England,  at  least. 
But  the  man's  end  remains  a  mystery :  I  can  tell  you 
nothing  more  of  him." 

"  I  think  I  would  have  fished  the  poor  wretch 
out,"  I  said,  and  moved  onwards  on  our  walk,  our 
pause  in  the  public  highway  having  lasted  a  consid- 
erable time. 

"  One  learns  rough  justice  out  there,"  said  Kennie. 


69 


Chapter  V 

Miss  TAYLOR  was  really  responsible  for  the  forma- 
tion of  the  Stowel  Reading  Society,  but  Eliza 
Jamieson  was  her  staunch  supporter.  Eliza  drew 
the  line  at  poetry  and  metaphysics,  "  Neither  of 
which,"  she  said,  "  I  consider  an  exact  science." 

Miss  Taylor  said :  "  But  it  is  not  a  scientific 
course  that  I  propose ;  it  is  English  Literature  in  its 
fullest  sense.  I  do  think  that  Stowel  is  getting 
behind  the  rest  of  the  world  in  its  knowledge  of  the 
best  literature,  and  I  am  sure  that  if  a  Reading 
Society  were  founded,  The  Uncle  would  be  pleased 
to  choose  books  and  send  them  to  us  from  Lon- 
don." 

To  no  one,  perhaps,  is  the  specializing  definite 
article  felt  to  be  more  appropriate  than  to  Sir  John. 
It  seems  to  distinguish  him  from  ordinary  human 
beings;  and  it  is  felt  to  be  indicative  of  a  consider- 
able amount  of  good  taste  and  good  feeling  on  the 
part  of  the  Taylors,  to  drop  the  General's  title  when 
conversing  with  their  intimate  friends,  and  to  refer 
to  him  merely  as  "  The  Uncle."  When  we  call  upon 
the  Taylors  we  always  ask  how  The  Uncle  is. 

70 


A  Lame    Dog's    Diary 

Eliza  Jamieson  became  the  society's  secretary  and 
treasurer  in  one,  and  she  it  was  who  in  her  neat  hand 
transcribed  the  letter,  which  all  had  helped  to  com- 
pose, to  ask  The  Uncle  what  works  in  English 
literature  it  would  be  advisable  for  the  Reading 
Society  to  get.  His  reply  was  read  aloud  at  one  of 
the  first  meetings,  and  each  eulogized  it  in  turn  as 
being  "  courtly,"  "  gentlemanly,"  "  manly,"  and 
"  concise."  It  could  not  but  be  felt,  however,  that  as 
a  guide  to  a  choice  of  literature  the  letter  was  dis- 
appointing : 

"  DEAR  MADAM  "  (it  ran), 

"  I  much  regret  that  I  am  unable  to  help  you 
in  any  way  about  your  books.  I  read  very  little 
myself,  except  the  newspapers,  though  I  occasionally 
take  a  dip  into  one  of  my  old  favourites  by  Charles 
Lever.  I  think  a  cookery-book  is  the  most  useful 
reading  for  a  young  lady,  and  she  would  be  best 
employed  studying  that,  and  not  filling  her  head 
with  nonsense.  That  is  the  advice  of  a  very  old 
fellow,  who  remembers  many  charming  girls  years 
ago,  who  knew  nothing  about  advanced  culture.  .  ." 

It  was  a  distinct  salve  to  the  Society's  feelings  to 
note  that  the  letter  was  written  on  paper  stamped 

71 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

with  the  address  of  a  military  club,  and  instead  of 
copying  it,  and  making  an  entry  of  it  in  the  minutes 
of  the  reading  Society,  it  was  pasted  into  the  note- 
book, as  it  was  thought  the  autograph  and  the  crest 
were  "  interesting." 

Since  the  foundation  of  the  Reading  Society  there 
has  followed  a  period  during  which  the  young  ladies 
of  Stowel  have  written  essays,  and  met  in  each 
other's  drawing-rooms  to  read  poetry  aloud,  to  their 
own  individual  satisfaction  and  to  the  torture  of 
other  ears. 

Mrs.  Fielden  did  not  join  the  society,  her  plea 
being  that  poetry  is  merely  prose  with  the  stops  in 
the  wrong  places,  and  therefore  very  fatiguing  to 
read,  and  very  obscure  in  its  meaning.  But  Eliza 
has  worn  us  out  with  books  of  reference,  and  we 
have  become  so  learned  and  so  full  of  culture, 
that  it  is  impossible  to  say  where  it  will  all  end. 
My  own  library  has  been  ransacked  for  books — I 
think  it  is  the  fact  of  my  having  a  library  that  has 
made  our  house  a  sort  of  centre  for  the  Reading 
Society.  We  criticise  freely  all  contemporary  litera- 
ture, and  base  our  preference  for  any  book  upon  its 
"  vigorous  Saxon  style." 

Eliza  has  written  two  reviews  for  the  local  news- 
paper, pointing  out  some  mistakes  in  grammar  in 

72 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

one  of  the  greatest  novels  of  the  day,  and  this 
naturally  makes  us  feel  very  proud  of  Eliza.  Those 
of  us  who  plead  for  an  easy  flowing  style,  consider 
that  she  has  an  almost  hypersensitive  ear  for  errors 
in  the  use  of  the  English  accidence.  A  split  infini- 
tive has,  heretofore,  hardly  arrested  our  attention; 
now  we  shudder  at  its  use,  while  the  misuse  of  the 
word  to  "  aggravate,"  which  up  to  the  present  we 
believed  in  all  simplicity  to  mean  to  "  annoy,"  causes 
the  gravest  offence  when  employed  in  the  wrong 
sense.  Books  from  the  circulating  library  have  been 
known  to  be  treated  almost  like  proof-sheets,  and 
corrections  are  jotted  down  in  pencil  on  the  margin 
of  the  leaves.  Even  the  notes  which  ladies  send  to 
each  other  are  subject  to  revision  at  the  hands  of  the 
recipient.  Ordinary  conversation  is  now  hardly 
known  in  Stowel,  and  tea-parties  take  the  form  of 
discussions.  The  spring  weather  is  so  warm  that  I 
generally  have  my  long  chair  taken  on  to  the  lawn 
in  the  afternoons,  and  tea  is  sometimes  brought 
out  there  when  the  meetings  of  the  Reading  Society 
are  over.  But  tea,  and  even  pound-cake,  are  thrown 
away  upon  young  ladies  who  partake  of  it  absently, 
and  to  whom  all  things  material  and  mundane — these 
words  are  often  used — must  now  be  offered  with  a 
feeling  of  apology. 

73 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

Major  Jacobs  rode  over  to  see  me  this  afternoon, 
and  we  had  not  long  enjoyed  the  repose  of  long 
chairs  and  cigarettes  under  the  medlar-tree,  and  the 
songs  of  birds  which  have  begun  nesting  very  early 
this  year,  and  the  quiet  rumbling  of  heavy  waggons 
that  pass  sometimes  in  the  high-road  beyond  the 
garden,  when  the  Reading  Society  in  a  body  joined 
us  from  the  house,  and  I  heard  my  sister  give  direc- 
tions for  tea  to  be  brought  out  on  to  the  lawn.  The 
other  day  I  heard  Palestrina  tell  a  friend  of  hers 
that  she  nearly  always  contrived  to  have  someone  to 
tea,  or  to  sit  with  Hugo  in  the  afternoon,  and  my 
sister's  satisfaction  increases  in  direct  proportion  to 
the  number  of  people  who  come. 

We  had  hardly  finished  tea  before  Frances  Taylor 
said  suddenly,  yet  with  the  manner  of  one  who  has 
risen  to  make  a  speech  on  a  platform :  "  Was  Cole- 
ridge a  genius  or  a  crank?" 

Eliza,  assuming  the  deep  frown  of  learning  which 
is  quite  common  amongst  us  nowadays,  was  upon 
her  in  a  moment,  and  said  emphatically :  "  How 
would  you  define  a  genius  ?  "  The  Socratic  habit  of 
asking  for  a  definition  is  one  that  is  always  adopted 
during  our  discussions,  and  it  is  generally  asked  for 
in  the  tone  of  voice  in  which  one  says  "  check " 
.when  playing  chess.  Frances  Taylor  was  quite  ready 

74 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

for  Eliza,  and  said :  "  Genius,  I  think,  is  like  some 
star " 

"  — Analogy  is  not  argument ! "  Eliza  pounced 
upon  her  in  the  voice  that  said,  "  I  take  your  pawn." 

It  will  be  noticed,  I  fear,  that  in  Stowel  we  are 
not  altogether  original  in  our  arguments — many  of 
them  can  be  traced,  alas !  to  the  Encyclopaedia 
Britannica,  and  they  are  not  often  the  outcome  of 
original  thought. 

Frances  Taylor's  king  was  once  more  in  check, 
and  she  became  a  little  nervous  and  irritable.  "  I  do 
not  think  we  need  go  into  definitions,"  she  said;  but 
Eliza  had  gone  in  doors  to  "  look  it  up."  She  re- 
turned presently  with  a  dictionary,  walking  across 
the  lawn  towards  us  with  it  held  close  to  her  near- 
sighted eyes.  "  A  genius,"  she  began,  and  then  she 
glanced  disparagingly  at  the  title  of  the  book,  and 
said,  "  according  to  Webster,  that  is — but  I  do  not 
know  if  we  ought  to  accept  him  as  a  final  authority — 
is  explained  as  being  '  a  peculiar  structure  of  mind 
which  is  given  by  Nature  to  an  individual  which 
qualifies  him  for  a  particular  employment ;  a  strength 
of  mind,  uncommon  powers  of  intellect,  particularly 
the  power  of  invention.'  A  '  crank,' "  she  went  on, 
"in  its  modern  meaning  seems  hardly  to  have 
been  known  to  the  writer  of  this  dictionary;  the 

75 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

word  is  rendered  literally,  as  meaning  '  a  bend,  or 
turn.' " 

"  Then  I  submit,"  said  Miss  Taylor,  "  that  Cole- 
ridge was  a  genius." 

Miss  Tracey  said,  in  a  very  sprightly  manner — 
she  often  astonished  us  by  showing  a  subtle  turn  of 
mind,  and  a  graceful  aptitude  for  epigram,  which,  it 
is  believed,  would  only  find  its  proper  field  in  those 
salons  which  are  now,  alas,  things  of  the  past :  "  Let 
us  write  him  down  a  genius  and  a  crank !  The  two  " 
— she  advanced  her  daring  view  bravely — "  the  two 
are  often  allied."  She  had  a  volume  of  Coleridge  on 
her  bookshelves,  and  prided  herself  upon  her  appre- 
ciation— unusual  in  a  woman — of  the  "  Ancient 
Mariner." 

"  A  genius  in  italics  and  a  crank  followed  by  a 
mark  of  interrogation ! "  said  Eliza,  in  a  brilliant 
fashion,  and  Miss  Taylor,  not  to  be  beaten  in  a 
matter  of  intellect,  said  at  once :  "  Did  Bacon  write 
Shakespeare's  plays?" 

Mrs.  Gallup  and  Mr.  Lee  were  quoted  extensively. 

Miss  Taylor  could  only  suggest,  with  a  good  deal 
of  quiet  dignity,  that  she  could  write  to  The  Uncle 
and  find  out  who  is  right.  This,  of  course,  closes 
the  controversy  for  the  present. 

George  Jamieson,  who  goes  to  town  every  day, 
76 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

gains  advanced  views  from  the  magazines  which  he 
reads  during  his  dinner-hour  in  the  City,  and  he  is 
a  great  assistance  to  the  Reading  Society.  I  con- 
tribute the  use  of  my  library,  and  I  have  heard  the 
members  of  the  Reading  Society  say  that  "  women 
are  the  true  leaders  of  the  present  movement,  and 
already  their  influence  is  being  felt  by  the  male 
mind." 

George  brought  with  him  the  current  number  of 
the  Nineteenth  Century  Magazine  when  he  came  home 
last  Friday,  instead  of  Pearson's  or  the  Strand,  and 
already  there  are  whispers  of  a  Magazine  Club  in 
Stowel.  Miss  Frances  Taylor  received  nothing  but 
books  on  her  last  birthday,  and  Palestrina  told  me  a 
pathetic  little  story  of  how  Gracie  Jamieson  went 
without  a  pair  of  shoes  to  buy  a  copy  of  Browning. 
Perhaps  the  climax  of  culture  and  learning  was  felt 
only  to  have  been  reached  when  Eliza  introduced 
the  expression  "  Hypothesis  of  Purpose "  into  an 
ordinary  conversation  at  the  conclusion  of  one  of  the 
meetings  of  the  Reading  Society. 

After  this,  as  Palestrina  remarked,  it  was  quite 
refreshing  to  hear  that  the  curate's  wife  had  got  a 
new  baby.  It  was  born  last  Sunday,  and  the  anixous 
father  spent  his  days  bicycling  wildly  to  and  fro 
between  his  own  house  and  the  church,  hopelessly 

77 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

confusing  his  reading  of  the  service,  and  then  flying 
back  to  inquire  for  his  wife's  health.  Led  by  him, 
we  prayed  successively  for  fine  weather  and  for  rain, 
while  the  Sunday-school  teachers'  meeting  was 
announced  for  2  a.m.  on  the  following  Saturday,  and 
the  Coal  Club  notices  were  inextricably  confused 
with  the  publishing  of  banns  of  marriage.  After  each 
service  the  distracted  little  man  would  leap  on  his 
bicycle  again,  and,  scattering  the  departing  congre- 
gation with  his  bicycle  bell,  he  was  off  down  the  hill 
to  his  house.  His  perturbation  was  nothing  as  com- 
pared with  the  confusion  at  home,  where,  so  far  as  I 
could  make  out,  the  bewildered  household  did  nothing 
but  run  up  and  down  stairs,  and  madly  offer  each 
other  cups  of  tea. 

My  sister's  kind  heart  suggested  that  we  should 
have  Peggy,  the  eldest  child,  to  stay  with  us  till  her 
mother  should  be  better.  Is  it  necessary  to  mention 
the  fact  that  Palestrina  is  fat  and  very  pretty,  and 
that  she  spoils  me  dreadfully?  Do  I  want  a  book,  I 
generally  find  that  Palestrina  has  written  for  it, 
almost  before  I  had  realized  that  life  was  a  wilder- 
ness without  it.  I  have  never  known  her  out  of 
temper,  nor  anything  else  but  placid  and  serene. 
And  she  has  a  low,  gurgling  laugh,  and  a  certain 
way  of  saying :  "  Oh,  that  will  be  very  nice !  "  to  any 

78 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

proposal  that  one  makes,  which  one  must  admit 
makes  her  a  very  charming,  and  a  very  easy,  person 
to  live  with.  She  is  fond  of  children,  and  she  an- 
nounced to  Peggy,  with  a  beaming  smile,  this  morn- 
ing, that  she  had  a  new  little  brother. 

Peggy  went  on  quietly  with  her  breakfast  for  some 
time  without  making  any  remark;  then  she  gave  a 
little  sigh,  and  said :  "  Mamma  thought  she  had 
enough  children  already,  but  I  suppose  God  thought 
otherwise." 

Peggy  has  been  in  low  spirits  all  day,  and,  closely 
following  some  line  of  reasoning  of  her  own,  she  has 
flatly  refused  to  say  her  prayers  at  bed-time. 

Mrs.  Fielden  rode  over  to  see  us  this  morning,  in 
her  dark  habit,  and  neat  boots,  which  she  loves  to 
tap  with  her  riding-crop.  No  illness  ever  troubles 
Mrs.  Fielden ;  her  colour  is  always  perfect,  and,  with- 
out being  muscular-looking,  she  is  the  most  perfectly 
healthy-looking  human  being  that  I  have  ever  seen. 
She  came  into  the  dim  hall  like  the  embodiment  of 
Spring  or  of  Life.  She  sat  down  in  her  oddly- 
shaped  habit,  her  neat  riding-boots  showing  almost 
up  to  the  knee,  as  though  she  were  at  home,  and 
was  in  no  hurry  to  go  off  anywhere  else.  This  gives 
a  feeling  of  repose  to  a  sick  man.  One  knew  that 

79 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

she  would  probably  stop  to  luncheon,  and  that  one 
would  not  have  to  say  to  her  half  a  dozen  times  in 
the  morning,  "  Please  don't  go." 

Presently  Margaret  Jamieson,  who  had  been  doing 
the  whole  work  of  the  curate's  household  during  the 
late  trying  time,  came  with  the  baby  in  her  arms  to 
show  him  to  Palestrina.  Her  manner  had  a  charming 
air  of  matronliness  about  it,  and  she  threw  back  the 
fretted  silk  of  the  veil  that  covered  the  face  of  the 
little  creature  in  her  arms,  with  an  air  of  pride  that 
was  rather  pretty  to  see.  But  Eliza,  who  had  raced 
over  to  our  house  in  the  Jamieson  usual  head-long 
fashion,  to  say  something  to  us  on  the  subject  of 
textual  criticism,  looked  severely  at  the  infant 
through  her  glasses,  and  remarked  that  she  had  no 
sympathy  whatever  with  that  sort  of  thing.  Mar- 
garet hugged  the  baby  closer  to  her,  and  Mettie,  who 
had  pattered  over  to  see  us  with  her  cousin  Eliza, 
remarked  that  children  were  doubtless  one  of  the 
great  risks  of  matrimony. 

"  I  am  sure,"  said  Eliza,  "  when  one  sees  how 
happy  Kate  is  with  James,  it  makes  one  feel  that  the 
risk  is  not  so  very  great,  after  all." 

That  there  should  be  an  element  of  sarcasm  in  this 
remark,  did  not  even  suggest  itself  to  Eliza. 

"  We  should  all  be  thankful,"  piped  forth  Mettie, 
80 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

who  is  always  ready  to  talk,  "  that  it  has  turned  out 
so  well.  Kate's  courage  and  independence  of  mind 
seem  best  suited  to  Mr.  Ward.  But  that  is  what  I 
think  about  us  all  at  Belmont;  our  characteristics 
are  so  different,  that  any  gentleman  coming  amongst 
us  might  find  something  to  attract  him  in  one,  if  not 
in  the  others.  Margaret  is  our  home-bird,  and  Eliza 

is  so  cultured,  and  Kate " 

The  two  Miss  Jamiesons  were  looking  very  uncom- 
fortable, and  Margaret  said :  "  Oh,  Mettie,  dear !  " 
while  Mrs.  Fielden  made  an  excuse  for  walking  over 
to  the  piano.  There  was  a  piece  of  music  open  upon 
it.  "  Do  sing  it,"  she  said  to  Palestrina. 

THE  GAY  TOM-TIT 
A  torn-tit  lived  in  a  tip-top  tree, 
And  a  mad  little,  bad  little  bird  was  he. 
He'd  bachelor  tastes,  but  then — oh  dear! 
He'd  a  gay  little  way  with  the  girls,  I  fear! 
Now  a  Jenny  wren  lived  on  a  branch  below, 
And  it's  plain  she  was  vain  as  ladies  go, 

For  she  pinched  her  waist  and  she  rouged  a  bit, 
With  a  sigh  for  the  eye  of  that  gay  torn-tit. 
She  sighed  "Oh  my!" 
She  sighed  "Ah  me!" 

While  the  torn-tit  sat  on  his  tip-top  tree-tree-tree. 
And  she  piped  her  eye 
A  bit-bit-bit 
For  the  love  of  that  gay  tom-tit-tit-tit 

81 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

She  saw  that  her  rouge  did  not  attract, 
So  she  tried  to  decide  how  next  to  act: 

She  donned  a  stiff  collar  and  fancy  shirt 
And  she  wore,  what  is  more,  a  divided  skirt. 
Then  she  bought  cigarettes  and  a  big  latch-key, 
And  she  said,  "  He'll  be  bound  to  notice  me ! " 
But  she  found  her  plan  did  not  work  one  bit, 
For  he  sneered,  as  I  feared,  did  that  gay  torn-tit 
He  sneered  "  Oh  my ! " 
He  sneered  "Oh  lor!" 

"What  on  earth  has  she  gone  and  done  that  for-for-for?" 
And  he  winked  his  eye 
A  bit-bit-bit, 
That  giddy  and  gay  tom-tit-tit-tit. 

"Alas!  no  more,"  said  the  poor  young  wren, 
"  Will  I  ape  the  shape  of  heartless  men ! " 
So  she  flung  cigarettes  and  big  latch-key 
With  a  flop  from  the  top  of  that  great  green  tree. 
And  she  wouldn't  use  rouge  or  pinch  her  waist, 
But  she  dressed  to  the  best  of  a  simple  taste; 
Then  she  learned  to  cook  and  sew  and  knit — 
"  What  a  pearl  of  a  girl ! "  said  the  gay  torn-tit. 
Said  he,  "  Good  day ! " 
Said  she,  "How  do?" 

They  were  very  soon  friends,  these  two-two-two. 
And  I'm  bound  to  say 
In  a  bit-bit-bit, 
She  married  that  gay  tom-tit-tit-tit.  j 

Thus  sang  Palestrina. 

"  Ethically  considered,  my  dear  Palestrina,"  said 
Eliza,  "  that  song  is  distinctly  immoral." 

82 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  Don't  let  us  consider  it  ethically,"  said  Pales- 
trina  tranquilly;  and  she  went  over  and  sat  in  the 
corner  of  the  sofa  with  several  pillows  at  her  back. 

"  Ethically  considered,"  repeated  Eliza,  "  that 
song,  if  one  pursues  its  teachings  to  a  logical  con- 
clusion, can  only  mean  that  all  female  social  develop- 
ment is  impossible,  and  that  the  whole  reason  for  a 
woman's  existence  is  that  she  may  gratify  man." 

"  They  are  really  not  worth  it,"  murmured  Mrs. 
Fielden,  who  was  in  a  frivolous  mood. 

"  And  mark  you,"  said  Eliza,  in  quite  the  best  of 
the  Reading  Society  manner,  "  it  does  not  suggest 
that  that  gratification  may  be  inspired  either  by  our 
beauty,  or  by  our  intellect;  indeed,  it  proves  that 
such  powers  are  worthless  to  inspire  it.  It  postulates 
the  hypothesis  " — Eliza  is  really  splendid — "  that 
man  is  a  brute  whose  appreciation  can  only  be 
secured  by  ministering  to  his  desire  for  food  and  suit- 
able clothing,  and  that  woman's  whole  business  is  to 
render  this  creature  complacent." 

"  Don't  you  think  things  are  much  pleasanter  when 
people  are  complacent?  "  said  my  sister. 

Eliza  fixed  her  with  strong,  dark  eyes.  "  Were  I 
describing  you  in  a  book,"  she  said — one  feels  as 
though  Eliza  will  write  a  book,  probably  a  clever 
one,  some  day — "  I  should  describe  you  as  a  typical 

83 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

woman,  and  therefore  a  pudding.  A  dear,  tepid 
pudding,  with  a  pink  sauce  over  it.  Very  sweet,  no 
doubt,  but  squashy — decidedly  squashy.  Some 
day,"  said  Eliza  triumphantly,  "  you  will  be  squashed 
into  mere  pulp,  and  you  will  not  like  that." 

This  did  not  seem  to  be  a  likely  end  to  Palestrina. 
Eliza  continued:  "Who  will  deny  that  men  are 
selfish?  " 

"  But  they  are  also  useful,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  in 
an  ingenuous  way.  "  They  open  doors  for  one,  don't 
you  know,  and  give  one  the  front  row  when 
there  is  anything  to  be  seen,  even  when  one  wears  a 
big  hat;  and  they  see  one  into  one's  carriage — oh! 
and  lots  of  other  useful  little  things  of  that  sort." 

"  Admitted,"  said  Eliza,  "  that  women  have  cer- 
tain privileges — have  they  any  Rights  ?  " 

Mrs.  Fielden  admitted  that  they  had  not.  *'  But," 
she  said,  "  I  don't  really  think  that  that  matters 
much.  The  men  one  knows  are  always  nice  to  one, 
and  I  don't  think  it  matters  much  what  the  others 
are." 

"  Rank  individualism,"  said  Eliza.  And  she  said 
it  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  which  gave  us  a 
very  high  opinion  indeed  of  her  powers  of  speech. 
"  It  is  the  fashion  to  say  that  each  woman  has  only 
one  man  to  manage,  and  she  must  be  a  very  stupid 

84 


A   Lame    Dog's   Diary 

woman  if  she  cannot  manage  him;  but  there  are 
thousands  of  women,  who,  being  weaker,  morally 
and  physically,  than  their  particular  man,  can  do 
nothing  with  him,  and  it  is  not  fair  to  leave  their 
wrongs  unredressed,  so  long  as  you  are  comfortable 
and  happy." 

"  Still,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden  thoughtfully, 
"  one  cannot  help  wishing  that  they  could  get  what 
they  want  without  involving  us  in  the  question. 
You  see,  if  they  get  their  rights  we  should  probably 
get  ours  too,  and  then  I'm  afraid  we  should  lose  our 
privileges." 

"  You  are  like  the  man,"  said  I,  "  who  could  do 
quite  well  without  the  necessaries  of  life,  but  he 
could  not  do  without  its  luxuries." 

"  What  a  nice  man  it  must  have  been  who  said 
that !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fielden.  "  It  would  be  quite 
easy  to  do  without  meat  on  one's  table,  but  it  would 
be  impossible  to  dine  without  flowers  and  dessert." 

It  must  be  admitted  that  Eliza  had  the  last  word 
in  the  argument  after  all. 

"  Just  so,"  she  said ;  "  and  all  life  shows  just  this 
— that  a  woman  has,  with  her  usual  perverseness, 
chosen  a  diet  of  flowers  and  dessert  with  intervals  of 
starvation,  instead  of  wholesome  meat  and  pudding." 


85 


Chapter  VI 

"  WE  shall  have  to  ask  the  engaged  couple  to  din- 
ner," I  said  to  Palestrina  one  morning  a  few  days 
later.  "  And  I  suppose  one  or  two  more  of  the  rest 
of  The  Family  would  like  to  be  asked  at  the  same 
time." 

"  I  never  know  in  what  quantities  one  ought  to  ask 
the  Jamiesons,"  said  my  sister,  "  nor  how  to  make  a 
proper  selection.  It  seems  invidious  to  suggest  that 
Kate  and  Eliza  and  Margaret  should  come,  and  not 
Maud  and  Gracie ;  and  yet,  what  is  one  to  do  ?  The 
last  time  that  you  were  away  from  home  I  wrote 
and  said,  *  Will  a  few  of  you  come?'  And  Mrs. 
Jamieson,  the  Pirate  Boy,  and  four  sisters  came." 

"  One  feels  sure,"  I  replied,  "  that  the  Jamiesons 
thought  this  was  quite  a  modest  number  to  take 
advantage  of  your  invitation.  One  knows  that  had 
they  been  inviting  some  girls  from  a  boarding-school 
they  would  have  included  the  entire  number  of 
pupils." 

Palestrina  protested  that  as  the  meal  to  which  our 
friends  were  to  come  was  dinner,  it  would  be  only 
reasonable  to  invite  the  same  number  of  ladies  and 

86 


A  Lame   Dog's    Diary 

gentlemen;  and  to  this  I  assented.  She  suggested 
asking  the  Darcey-Jacobs,  whom  we  had  not  seen  for 
a  long  time. 

Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs  is  a  woman  who  always  af- 
fords one  considerable  inward  amusement,  being 
herself,  I  believe,  more  conspicuously  devoid  of 
humour  than  anyone  else  I  have  ever  met.  Mrs. 
Darcey-Jacobs  has  never  been  known  to  see  a  joke. 
That  she  herself  should  appear  to  anyone  in  a 
humourous  light,  would,  I  know,  appear  an  incon- 
ceivable contingency  to  her.  She  has  a  high  Roman 
nose,  and  rather  faded  yellow  hair,  which  was  her 
principal  claim  to  beauty  when  a  girl.  It  is  even 
now  thick  and  long,  and  is  always  worn  in  a  sort  of 
majestic  coronet  on  the  top  of  her  head.  Her  man- 
ner is  somewhat  formidable  and  emphatic,  and  the 
alarm  which  this  engenders  in  timid  or  diffident 
persons  is  increased  by  the  habit  she  has  of  accentu- 
ating many  of  her  remarks  by  a  playful,  but  really 
somewhat  severe,  rap  over  the  knuckles  of  the  person 
she  is  addressing,  with  her  fan  or  lorgnettes.  She 
dresses  handsomely  in  expensive  materials  somewhat 
gaudy  in  colour,  and  she  has  an  erect  carriage  of 
which  she  is  very  proud.  Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs  has 
a  good  deal  to  say  on  the  subject  of  the  feeble- 
mindedness of  the  male  sex,  and  when  something 

87 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

has  been  proved  impossible  of  attainment  by  them, 
she  always  says,  "  a  woman  could  have  done  it  in 
five  minutes." 

At  the  time  of  her  marriage,  Mrs.  Darcey- Jacobs 
(Miss  Foljambe,  she  was  then)  was  a  dowerless 
girl  with  two  admirers,  Major  Jacobs  and  Mr.  Mor- 
gan. Not  being,  it  would  seem,  a  young  lady  of  very 
deep  affections,  her  choice  of  a  husband  was  decided 
entirely  by  the  extent  of  the  worldly  prospects  he 
could  offer,  and  the  Major,  being  the  better  match  of 
the  two,  was  accepted.  But  how  cruel  are  the  tricks 
that  fate  will  sometimes  play!  Not  long  after  her 
marriage,  Mr.  Morgan  not  only  inherited  a  large 
fortune,  but  shortly  afterwards  left  this  world  for  a 
better,  and  Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs  is  in  the  habit  of 
remarking,  with  a  good  deal  of  feeling,  "  If  I  had 
only  chosen  the  other  I  might  have  been  a  happy 
widow  now ! " 

Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs  lives  in  our  quiet  country 
neighbourhood  during  the  greater  part  of  the  year 
on  the  distinct  understanding  that  she  loathes  every 
hour  of  it.  When  she  goes  abroad  or  to  London  she 
talks  quite  cheerfully  of  having  one  breath  of  life. 
And  so  fraught  with  happy  successes  are  these  pil- 
grimages in  her  brocaded  satin  gowns  into  the  outer 
world,  that  she  often  says  that  were  she  but  free 

88 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

she  might  have  the  world  at  her  feet  to-morrow. 
And  she  has  been  known  to  refer  to  the  Major,  still 
in  the  tone  of  cheerful  resignation  and  with  her 
emphasizing  tap  of  the  fan,  as  "  a  dead  weight  round 
her  neck." 

The  Major  himself  is  a  guileless  person,  whose 
very  simplicity  causes  his  wife  more  exquisite  suffer- 
ing than  even  a  husband  of  keen  vindictive  temper 
could  inflict. 

Does  Mrs.  Jacobs  give  a  dinner  party,  it  is  not 
unusual  for  the  master  of  the  house  to  remark,  in  a 
congratulatory  tone  from  his  end  of  the  table, 
"  What  has  Mullens  been  doing  to  the  silver,  my 
dear?  it  looks  unusually  bright!"  While  his  greet- 
ing to  his  frends  as  they  arrive  at  his  house, 
though  distinctly  cordial,  often  takes  the  form  of  a 
hearty  "  I  had  no  idea  that  we  were  going  to  see  you 
to-night."  As  Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs  always  sends 
some  kind  message  from  the  Major  in  her  notes  of 
invitation,  this  of  course  is  most  disconcerting,  both 
for  her  and  for  her  guests.  This  year,  when  they 
were  in  Italy,  a  friend  of  ours  in  the  same  hotel  over- 
heard a  lady  ask  the  Major  if  he  were  related  to  the 
Darceys  of  Mugthorpe.  "  I  really  can't  tell  you," 
said  the  Major;  "the  Darcey  was  my  wife's  idea." 

"  Four  Jamiesons,"  I  said,  "  and  the  Darcey- 
89 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

Jacobs,  and  our  two  selves.  Isn't  it  humiliating  to 
think  that  we  have  invariably  to  invite  the  same  two 
men  to  balance  our  numbers  at  a  dinner  party?  I 
can't  help  remarking  that  Anthony  Crawshay  and 
Ellicomb  are  present  at  every  dinner-party  in  this 
neighbourhood,  as  surely  as  soup  is  on  the  table." 

"  We  might  ask  Mrs.  Fielden,"  said  Palestrina ; 
"  she  is  sure  to  have  some  Colonels  with  her ;  besides, 
I  like  Mrs.  Fielden,  though  people  say  she  is  a  flirt. 
I  think  most  men  are  in  love  with  her ;  some  propose 
to  her,  and  some  do  not,  but  they  all  love  her." 

"  Even  when  she  refuses  to  marry  them?  " 

"  I  have  heard  Mrs.  Fielden  say  that  an  offer  of 
marriage  should  be  refused  artistically,"  said  Pales- 
trina. "  She  says  young  girls  hardly  ever  do  it 
properly,  and  that  they  are  brusque  and  brutal.  I 
suppose  she  herself  has  some  charming  way  of  her 
own  of  refusing  men  which  does  not  hurt  their 
feelings.  I  believe,"  said  Palestrina,  "  that  she 
would  marry  Sir  Anthony  Crawshay  if  he  could  play 
Bridge." 

"  Anthony  is  an  excellent  fellow,"  I  said. 

Mr.  Ellicomb  is  a  young  man  of  High  Church 
principles  and  artistic  tastes,  who  has  taken  an  old 
Tudor  farmhouse  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  has 
furnished  it  very  well.  He  waxes  eloquent  on  the 

90 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

monstrous  inelegance  of  modern  dress,  and  the 
decadence  of  Japanese  art,  and  he  says  he  would 
rather  sit  in  the  dark  than  burn  gas  in  his  house, 
and  he  dusts  his  own  blue  china  himself.  In  his 
house  it  is  a  sign  of  art  to  divert  anything  from  its 
proper  use,  and  to  use  it  for  another  purpose  than 
that  for  which  it  was  originally  intended.  Poor 
Ellicomb  uses  a  cabbage-strainer  as  a  fern  pot,  a 
drain-tile  for  an  umbrella  stand,  his  mother's  old 
lace  veils  as  antimacassars;  bed  posts  as  palm- 
stands,  a  linen  press  as  a  book-case,  and  a  brass 
spittoon  for  growing  lilies.  It  is  almost  like  playing 
at  guessing  riddles  to  go  over  his  house  with  him, 
and  try  to  discover  for  what  purpose  some  of  his 
things  were  originally  created.  Their  conversion  to 
some  other  use,  is,  I  am  sure,  a  very  high  form  of 
art. 

"  There  are  the  Jamiesons,"  said  my  sister,  as  we 
sat  in  the  hall  ready  to  receive  our  guests. 

It  does  not  require  any  occult  power  to  sit  indoors 
and  to  be  able  to  distinguish  the  Jamiesons'  carriage 
wheels  from  those  of  the  other  arrivals,  for  the 
Jamiesons  have,  as  usual,  employed  the  "  six  fifty  " 
'bus  on  its  return  journey  from  the  station  to  set 
them  down  at  our  gate.  It  is  quite  a  subject  of 
interest  with  our  neighbours  to  find  themselves  fel- 

91 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

low-passengers  with  the  young  ladies,  in  their  black 
skirts  and  their  more  dressy  style  of  bodice  con- 
cealed beneath  tweed  capes.  And  it  generally  gets 
about  in  Stowel  circles  before  the  evening  is  over, 
or  certainly  soon  after  the  morning  shopping  has 
begun,  that  the  Miss  Jamiesons  have  been  dining  at 
such  or  such  a  house.  Even  the  'bus  conductor  has 
a  sympathetic  way  of  handing  the  young  ladies  into 
his  conveyance  when  they  are  going  out  to  dinner, 
and  he  fetches  a  wisp  of  straw  and  wipes  down  the 
step,  if  the  night  is  wet. 

Mr.  Ward  piloted  the  independent  Kate  up  the 
short  carriage  drive  with  quite  an  affectionate  air  of 
solicitude,  frequently  inquiring  of  her  if  she  did  not 
feel  her  feet  a  little  damp ;  and  Kate  answered  cheer- 
fully and  kindly,  feeling,  no  doubt,  that  this  sort 
of  fussing  was  one  of  the  drawbacks  of  prospective 
matrimony,  but  that  it  was  only  right  to  accept  the 
little  attentions  in  the  spirit  in  which  they  were  made. 
The  Pirate  Boy,  who  followed  with  his  sister  Maud, 
begged  her  to  take  his  arm  in  a  burly  fashion,  and 
fell  a  little  distance  behind.  The  Pirate  Boy  thinks 
that  it  is  etiquette  to  place  himself  at  a  distance  from 
any  engaged  couple,  even  during  the  shortest  walk. 
He  does  so  even  when  he  makes  the  untoward  third  in 
a  party.  On  these  occasions  he  falls  behind  and  puts 

92 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

on  an  air  of  abstraction,  a  little  overdone.  The 
Jacobs  arrived  next,  and  then  Anthony  Crawshay, 
who  drove  over  in  his  high  dog-cart,  with  its  flashing 
lamps  and  glittering  wheels — a  very  good  light- 
running  cart  it  is;  Anthony  and  I  used  often  to 
drive  in  it  to  meets  together — and  Ellicomb  arrived 
in  a  brougham,  in  which  we  have  a  shrewd  suspicion 
there  was  a  foot  warmer. 

Maud  began  to  flirt  with  Mr.  Ellicomb  directly. 
I  have  never  known  her  to  be  for  long  in  the  society 
of  a  gentleman  without  doing  so,  and  her  sisters  are 
wont  to  say  of  Maud  that  she  certainly  has  her 
opportunities,  while  the  criticism  of  an  unprejudiced 
observer  might  be  that  she  certainly  makes  them. 
Mr.  Ellicomb,  it  is  believed,  has  written  an  article 
in  one  of  the  magazines  on  the  reformation  of  men's 
clothing,  and  it  is  hoped  he  will  become  a  member 
of  the  Reading  Society.  He  ate  very  little  at  dinner, 
and  talked  in  a  low,  cultured  voice  about  Church 
matters  the  whole  of  the  evening,  and  uttered  some 
very  decided  views  upon  the  subject  of  the  celibacy 
of  the  clergy. 

"  I  must  say,"  said  Major  Jacobs,  "  that  I  also 
approve  of  celibacy  in  the  Church,  and  I  may  say  in 
the  army  and  in  the  navy.  If  I  had  my  life  to  live 

over  again " 

93 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  William !  "  said  Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs,  in  an  awful 
voice. 

William  was  about  to  retreat  precipitately  from 
his  position,  but,  catching  sight  perhaps  of  a  sym- 
pathetic eye  turned  upon  him  from  that  good  com- 
rade of  his,  Anthony  Crawshay,  he  blundered  on: 

"  If  Confession,  now,  became  more  general  in  the 
English  Church,"  he  said,  "  secrets  confided  to  the 
clergy  could  hardly  be  kept  inviolate.  A  man's  wife 
might  almost — well,  not  to  put  too  fine  a  point  on  it, 
wring  from  him  by  force  the  secret  that  had  been 
committed  to  him." 

"  I  hope  so,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs. 

"  The  Anglican  Church,"  said  Mr.  Ellicomb, 
"  recognises  that  difficulty,  and  has  met  it  in  the  per- 
sons of  the  Fathers  of  the  Church." 

Maud  Jamieson  raised  soft  eyes  to  his,  and  said 
that  a  woman  might  be  a  help  and  a  comfort  to  a 
man. 

Mr.  Ellicomb  seemed  disposed  to  admit  that  it 
might  be  so.  "  I  have  been  in  retreat  at  Cowley  for 
some  weeks,"  he  said,  "  and  the  cooking  was  certainly 
monstrous,  and,  would  you  believe  it,  they  did  not 
allow  one  to  bring  one's  own  servant  with  one." 
There  is  nothing  monkish  about  Ellicomb  himself, 
nor  is  his  asceticism  overdone. 

94 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  I  have  been  reading  a  book  on  sects  and 
heresies,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  "  and  I  find  I  belong 
to  them  all." 

Mr.  Ellicomb  interposed  eagerly  by  saying,  "  If  I 
had  to  state  my  own  convictions  exactly,  I  should 
certainly  say  that  I  was  a  Manichaean,  with  just  a 
touch  of  Sabellianism." 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden  gravely,  "  that  I  am 
a  Rosicrucian  heretic." 

Mr.  Ellicomb  was  interested  and  delighted.  "  I 
know,"  he  said,  "  that  many  people  would  think  that 
I  had  not  exactly  stated  my  position.  For  instance, 
a  lady,  to  whom  I  described  my  symptoms  the  other 
day,  told  me  at  once  that  I  was  a  Buddhist  by  nature, 
and  an  Antinomian  by  education,  and  I  felt  that  in 
part  she  was  right." 

Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs  here  interposed,  and  gave  it 
as  her  opinion  emphatically  that  man  was  a  con- 
temptible creature  whatever  his  beliefs  might  be, 
and  that  he  required  a  woman  to  look  after  him. 

"  To  look  after  him,"  she  repeated,  in  a  tone  that 
said  as  plainly  as  possible  "  to  keep  him  in  order," 
and  she  tapped  Mr.  Ellicomb  sharply  on  the 
knuckles. 

The  Pirate  Boy  had  some  brave  notions  about  what 
he  called  the  Sex,  and  here  plunged  into  a  long 

95 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

description  of  how  he  had  rescued  a  fair  creature  out 
of  the  hands  of  cutthroats  out  there,  and  he  illus- 
trated his  action  of  saving  the  fair  one  by  holding  an 
imaginary  six-shooter  to  Palestrina's  head  in  a  very 
alarming  way.  He  talked  of  man  as  The  Protector, 
and  thrust  his  hand  into  his  cummerbund — the 
action,  I  suppose,  being  intended  to  show  that  the 
six-shooter  had  been  replaced — and  glanced  round 
the  table  with  an  air  of  defiance.  "  There  is  not  a 
man,"  he  remarked,  "  I  don't  care  who  he  is,  who 
shall  fail  in  respect  to  a  woman  when  I  am  present, 
that  he  shall  not  get  a  decanter  hurled  straight  at 
his  head — straight  at  his  head.  I  have  said  it !  "  He 
laid  his  hand  impetuously  upon  one  of  two  heavy 
cut-glass  bottles  that  had  been  placed  in  front  of 
me,  and  one  trembled  for  the  safety  of  one's  guests. 
"  I  remember,"  he  said,  "  in  one  of  those  gambling- 
hells  in  the  Far  West,  where  there  were  about  as 
unruly  a  set  of  fellows  and  cutthroats  as  ever  I  came 

across "    The  rest  of  the  story  was  so  evidently 

culled  from  the  last  number  of  the  Strand  Magazine 
that  it  hardly  seemed  rude  of  Palestrina  to  interrupt 
it  by  bowing  to  Mrs.  Fielden,  and  suggesting  that 
they  should  adjourn.  Maud  Jamieson  drew  my 
sister  aside  as  they  stood  grouped  round  the  fire- 
place in  the  hall  drinking  their  coffee,  and  thanked 

96 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

her  for  introducing  Mr.  Ellicomb  to  her.  "  He  is 
perfectly  charming,"  she  said.  But  Maud's  sisters 
have  confided  to  us  that  this  is  her  invariable  con- 
clusion about  the  last  man  she  has  met,  and  it  is 
intended  as  a  sort  of  pre-vindication  of  herself. 
Maud,  it  seems,  intends  to  flirt  with  everyone  she 
meets,  but  if  she  pretends  that  her  affections  are 
really  touched,  there  can  be  no  upbraidings  on  the 
part  of  The  Family. 

Kate  Jamieson  sat  on  the  sofa,  and  twisted  her 
engagement  ring  complacently  round  her  finger. 
She  thought  that  Mr.  Ward  had  carried  himself 
very  well  this  evening.  His  quietness  throughout 
the  dinner  compared  favourably  with  the  other 
guests.  Kate  said  once  to  Palestrina :  "  He  is  a 
man  that  I  shall  feel  the  utmost  confidence  in  taking 
about  with  me  everywhere."  And  the  remark  con- 
veyed the  suggestion  that  Mr.  Ward  would  always 
be  an  appendage  to  Kate  Jamieson. 

Anthony  Crawshay  is  a  very  good  fellow  indeed. 
The  most  advanced  and  cultured  young  lady  will 
never  get  him  to  talk  about  metaphysics  in  the  crush 
of  a  ball-room,  nor  to  concern  himself  about  the 
inartistic  shape  of  the  clothes  we  wear  nowadays. 
"  If  I  didn't  like  them,  I  shouldn't  wear  them,"  says 
Anthony.  He  is  a  short,  spare  man,  with  a  voice 

97 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

somewhat  out  of  proportion  to  his  size,  and  the  best 
cross-country  rider  in  the  country.  The  habit  he 
has  got  of  shouting  all  his  remarks  seems  rather 
pleasantly  in  accordance  with  his  honest  nature. 
Anthony  very  seldom  speaks  to  anyone  of  whom  he 
has  not  a  good  word  to  say ;  but  if  he  does  mention 
anyone  whom  he  dislikes,  he  does  so  in  a  very  hearty 
manner,  which  is  almost  as  good  as  many  other 
people's  praise.  He  is  as  obstinate,  as  straightfor- 
ward, and  as  good  a  fellow  as  a  country  neighbour 
ought  to  be.  "  We  have  been  hunting  a  May  fox, 
by  Gad,  Hugo,"  said  Anthony,  and  he  began  to  tell 
me  about  the  run — a  thing  I  can  hardly  get  anyone 
to  do  nowadays. 

The  Pirate  Boy,  upon  whom  the  word  horse  had 
a  rousing  effect,  condemned  the  whole  breed  of 
English  horses  in  one  short  speech.  "  I  assure  you," 
he  said,  getting  up  and  sawing  the  air  with  his  hand, 
"  there  are  some  of  those  wild  mustangs  out  there 
which  would  knock  spots  out  of  any  horses  in  your 
stables." 

Thus  challenged,  Anthony,  who  was  standing  on 
the  hearthrug,  turned,  and,  stooping  towards  me, 
asked,  in  what  he  intended  to  be  a  whisper,  who  the 
young  fellow  was,  and  shouted  abroad :  "  Rum  chap 
that,  very  rum  chap !  " 

98 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

By  and  by  Maud  Jamleson  went  to  the  piano  and 
began  to  sing  ballads  to  Mr.  Ellicomb ;  and  we  have 
an  inward  conviction — Palestrina  and  I — that  this 
evening's  report  to  the  Jamieson  Family  will  be  that 
Mr.  Ellicomb  is  "  struck."  Major  Jacobs  considers 
himself  musical,  because  he  likes  hearing  the  words 
of  a  song  distinctly  pronounced.  He  was  charmed 
with  Maud's  singing,  and  Kate  encouraged  the  girl 
in  a  little  matronly  way  which  she  has  lately  assumed. 
She  called  forth  Maud's  best  efforts  by  saying, 
"  What  was  the  pretty  Irish  song  you  sang  the  other 
night  ?  "  or  "  You  haven't  given  us  *  We'd  better  bide 
a  wee '  yet,  dear."  Maud  responded  with  several 
ballads,  and  wished  she  had  some  of  Lord  Henry 
Somerset's  songs  with  her,  Mr.  Ellicomb  having  ex- 
pressed a  fondness  for  them.  An  opportunity  was 
thus  given  for  suggesting  a  call  at  Belmont — Maud 
knows  mama  will  be  delighted — she  wished  Kennie 
Were  more  good  at  that  sort  of  thing;  the  invitation 
to  come  in  some  afternoon  might  perhaps  have  come 
better  from  a  brother. 

It  was  very  gratifying  to  find  that  Mr.  Ward, 
fortified  by  dinner,  became  more  courageous  than  I 
have  ever  known  him  to  be  before.  He  tip-toed  almost 
boldly  across  the  room,  and,  sitting  down  beside  my 
sister,  began  to  make  a  series  of  deliberate  remarks 

99 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

to  her,  mostly  in  the  form  of  interrogation :  "  Do 
you  care  for  Scotch  songs  ?  "  "  Have  you  ever  been 
in  Ireland?  "  "  Do  you  know  Wales  at  all?  "  And 
to  these  important  questions  Palestrina  made  suit- 
able replies.  "  That  is  most  interesting,"  I  heard 
her  say  from  time  to  time,  using  the  formula  of  those 
who  are  bored  to  the  extent  of  complete  absence  of 
mind.  .  .  . 

Mrs.  Fielden  crossed  the  room  suddenly,  with  a 
shimmer  of  silken  skirts.  In  spite  of  her  frivolity, 
she  has  a  way  of  making  herself  necessary  to  every 
party  which  she  goes  to.  There  used  to  be  an  old 
saying  long  ago  in  Scotland  that  wherever  the  Mac- 
gregor  sat  was  the  head  of  the  table.  Mrs.  Fielden 
is  always  the  centre  of  every  party,  although  she 
has  a  childish  habit,  which  in  another  woman  might 
be  ascribed  to  shyness,  of  taking  the  least  con- 
spicuous seat  in  the  room.  Consequently,  when  she 
dispersed  the  little  group  that  was  standing  or  sit- 
ting about  her,  applauding  everything  she  said,  and 
came  across  the  room  in  pink  satin  and  roses  and 
diamonds,  and  sat  down  beside  my  sofa,  the  action 
had  something  regal  about  it,  as  though  she  had  left 
a  throne  and  come  to  speak  to  me. 

"  I  am  going  to  teach  you  to  play  Bridge,"  she 
said. 

100 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  That  is  most  kind  of  you." 

"  I  am  going  to  carry  you  off  to  Stanby  next  week 
to  give  you  lessons,"  she  went  on. 

I  have  a  strong  conviction  that  if  Mrs.  Fielden 
were  to  give  a  beggar  a  halfpenny,  he  would  prob- 
ably stoop  down  and  kiss  the  edge  of  her  skirt,  or  do 
something  equally  unconventional  and  self-abasing. 
She  might,  as  a  great  favour,  give  a  courtier  who  had 
risked  his  life  for  her  her  hand  to  kiss.  When  she 
smiles  men  become  foolish  about  her. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  want  us,"  I  said. 

"  I  want  Bridge,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  and  as  usual 
when  she  is  going  to  be  provoking,  she  looked  prettier 
than  ever,  and  began  to  smile. 

"  Anyone  will  do  to  make  up  a  rubber,  I  suppose?  " 
I  said. 

"  Oh,  yes,  anyone,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden. 

"  Consequently,  my  sister  and  I  need  not  feel 
particularly  uplifted  at  being  asked,"  I  continued. 

"  I  am  so  glad  Palestrina  is  coming,"  said  Mrs. 
Fielden,  "  because  several  men  have  written  to  tell 
me  they  are  coming  to  stay,  just  when  my  sisters-in- 
law  are  leaving,  and  I  suppose  I  oughtn't  to  entertain 
a  houseful  of  men  alone,  ought  I?  " 

Mrs.  Fielden  does  exactly  as  she  pleases  upon  all 
occasions,  but  this  does  not  prevent  her  from  pre- 
101 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

tending  to  have  acute  attacks  of  propriety  some- 
times. 

"  We  will  play  Bridge  and  chaperone  you  with 
pleasure,"  I  said. 

"  I  thought  of  drowning  myself  yesterday,"  said 
Mrs.  Fielden,  "  because  it  rained  all  day,  and  I  had 
no  one  to  amuse  me,  and  then  I  thought  I  would 
ask  you  to  come  over  and  play  Bridge  instead. 
When  I  am  bored  I  never  can  make  up  my  mind 
whether  I  shall  commit  suicide,  or  go  into  a  convent, 
or  get  married.  Which  do  you  advise  ?  " 

"  I  should  advise  you  to  marry,"  I  said.  "  As  far 
as  I  can  gather,  a  great  source  of  discord  and  dan- 
ger in  our  neighbourhood  would  be  removed  if  you 
did  so." 

Mrs.  Fielden  said  with  her  eyes,  "  Hugo,  you  are 
very  cross."  But  being  the  most  good-natured 
woman  in  the  world  and  sharing  that  forbearance 
which  most  people  extend  to  an  invalid,  she  smiled 
instead. 

"  Why  do  you  stay  here  when  you  are  feeling  so 
tired?  "  she  said  to  me  presently. 

"  Because,"  I  replied,  "  my  sister  lies  awake  half 
the  night  and  thinks  I  am  going  to  die  if  I  show  any 
signs  of  fatigue,  or  go  to  bed  early.  Besides,  for 
us  you  know,  this  is  quite  an  exciting  evening.  We 

102 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

have  thought  about  our  dinner-party  for  days 
past." 

"  If  you  were  nice,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  after  a 
pause,  "  you  would  ask  me  to  come  into  your  library 
and  smoke." 

"  Do  you  smoke?  " 

s<No,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  "  I  don't." 

"I'm  glad  you  don't,"  I  said. 

"  For  years,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  "  I  tried  to  think 
it  was  wrong,  and  then  I  quite  enjoyed  smoking,  but 
there  is  certain  effort  involved  in  trying  to  raise  an 
innocent  occupation  to  the  level  of  a  crime." 

"  It  is  a  very  unfeminine  habit,"  I  said.  Partly 
because  I  was  in  a  contradictious  mood,  and  partly 
because  I  wanted  to  snub  Mrs.  Fielden  for  being  so 
beautiful  and  young  and  charming. 

"  The  last  man,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden  gravely,  "  who 
made  that  remark  died  shortly  afterwards." 

She  was  gathering  up  my  cushions  and  pillows  as 
she  spoke,  and  she  turned  to  my  sister  as  she  crossed 
the  hall,  and  said :  "  We  are  going  to  study  philos- 
ophy in  the  library." 

The  library  was  lit  by  a  single  lamp,  and  the  fire 
burned  low  in  the  grate ;  but  the  room  was  illumined 
suddenly  by  a  pink  frock  and  roses  and  diamonds, 
and  Mrs.  Fielden  was  arranging  cushions  in  the  very 

103 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

skilful  way  she  has  on  my  sofa  by  the  fire.  She 
handed  me  my  cigarette-box  and  matches,  and  spread 
a  rug  over  my  leg.  For  some  occult  reason  the 
rustling  pink  dress  only  whispered  softly  over  the 
carpet  now,  like  a  woman's  hushed  voice  in  a  sick 
room,  and  Mrs.  Fielden,  by  the  simple  act  of  draw- 
ing up  a  chair  to  the  fire,  and  sitting  in  it,  took 
the  head  of  the  table  again,  and  became  the  centre 
of  the  room. 

"  May  I  really  smoke,"  I  asked,  "  after  being  such 
a  brute  as  to  say  you  mustn't?  " 

"  I  look  upon  smoking  as  a  purely  feminine  habit, 
like  drinking  tea,  or  having  headaches,  or  anything 
of  that  sort,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden.  "  It  was  simply 
because  it  was  so  expensive  that  men  took  to  it  in  the 
first  place.  Ethics  should  not  be  based  upon  acci- 
dents, should  it  ?  " 

I  handed  Mrs.  Fielden  my  cigarette-box. 

"  If  you  are  quite  sure  you  disapprove  I  will  have 
one,"  she  said. 

From  the  hall  came  the  sound  of  Maud's  singing. 
Her  voice  is  not  of  great  compass,  nor  very  strong, 
but  it  is  clear  and  fresh,  with  a  tuneful  cadence  in  it. 

"  You  spend  nearly  all  your  days  here? "  said 
Mrs.  Fielden,  looking  round  the  room. 

"  Until  the  afternoon,"  I  said ;  "  and  then  Pales- 
104 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

trina  and  I  go  for  a  little  walk,  and  at  tea-time  I  go 
to  the  hall  sofa,  and  she  asks  people  to  come  up  and 
sit  with  me." 

"  I  am  glad  you  like  books,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden. 

"  But  really,"  I  said,  "  the  good  folks  in  Stowel 
are  all  extraordinarily  kind  to  me,  and  some  of  the 
Jamiesons  are  up  nearly  every  day." 

"  I  like  the  Jamiesons,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden ;  "  they 
are  so  intelligent.  Have  you  ever  noticed  that  their 
watches  all  keep  exact  time,  and  that  they  tell  you 
the  hour  to  the  very  second?  And  they  always  know 
what  day  of  the  month  it  is,  and  when  Easter  falls, 
and  how  much  stuff  it  takes  to  make  a  blouse." 

"  You  wrong  Eliza  Jamieson,"  I  said ;  "  she  studies 
philosophy." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden  eagerly,  "  I  forgot  to  tell 
you,  I  have  begun  to  study  philosophy.  I  began 
last  week.  Will  you  lend  me  some  books  please?  I 
want  to  be  very  wise  and  learned." 

"Why?  "I  asked. 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  "  that  it  might  be 
nice  if  people  did  not  always  call  one  frivolous ;  and 
that  if  I  studied  philosophy " 

"  I  shall  not  lend  you  any  books,"  I  said. 

"  That  is  rather  disobliging  of  you." 

"  Because,"  I  said,  "  our  lives  should  always  show 
105 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

a  perfect  equation.  If  you  are  a  frivolous  person 
you  should  behave  frivolously." 

"  You  mean  as  I  am  a  frivolous  person,"  said  Mrs. 
Fielden. 

"  As  you  are  a  frivolous  person,"  I  repeated. 

"  And  after  all,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  with  a  con- 
templative air,  "  how  silly  philosophy  is !  I  asked 
somebody  the  other  day  the  meaning  of  a  syllogism, 
and  really  I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  anything  quite 
so  foolish." 

"  It  is  quite  beneath  your  notice,"  I  said. 

"  I  did  think  of  asking  you  if  I  might  come  over 
sometimes  and  read  these  musty  volumes  of  yours." 

"  You  would  probably  find  them  as  uninteresting 
as  I  am,"  I  said. 

Mrs.  Fielden  looked  as  if  she  thought  that  might 
be  possible,  and  did  not  press  the  matter. 

I  dislike  to  be  disloyal  to  my  books,  for  they  are 
such  good  friends  of  mine.  But  a  great  wish  came 
to  me  then  to.  get  up  and  do  something,  instead  of 
for  ever  reading  the  doings  and  the  thoughts  of 
other  people.  I  thought  how  much  I  should  like  to 
live  again,  and  just  for  once  sleep  on  the  veldt  with 
the  stars  overhead,  and  hear  the  bugle  call  in  the 
morning ;  or  that  I  could  get  astride  of  a  horse,  and 
follow  a  burst  of  the  hounds  over  the  wet  fields  in 

106 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

England.  And  so  thinking,  I  turned  on  the  sofa, 
and  said  petulantly,  "  I  wish  Maud  Jamieson  would 
not  sing  that  song." 

"  Oh  that  we  two  were  maying,"  she  sang,  in  the 
song  that  tells  of  love  and  separation,  and  the  long- 
ings and  heartbreaks  which  it  is  much  better  not  to 
speak  about,  and  the  things  which  we  want  and 
cannot  have. 

"  I  hate  yearners,"  I  said.  "  Why  can't  she  sing 
something  cheerful?  " 

Mrs.  Fielden  rose  from  her  chair  by  the  fire  and 
crossed  the  hearthrug,  and  came  and  sat  down  on 
my  sofa.  She  took  my  hand  in  hers  and  said :  "  Poor 
boy!  is  it  very  hard  sometimes?  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Palestrina,  as  we  went  upstairs 
to  bed  after  our  guests  had  departed,  "  you  are  sure 
to  feel  tired.  The  little  party  has  been  too  much  for 
you,  I'm  afraid.  It  was  very  tiresome  for  you,  hav- 
ing to  leave  us  all." 

"  I  felt  rather  a  crock  after  dinner,"  I  said,  "  and 
I  think  the  hall  gets  hot  in  the  evening." 

"  I  wish  I  could  make  you  better,"  said  Palestrina 
affectionately ;  "  it  is  horrid  for  you  being  ill." 

"  Everyone,"  I  said,  "  makes  far  too  much  fuss 
about  health.  Why,  ten  officers  of  our  regiment  are 

107 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

buried  in  South  Africa.  I  suppose  half  the  pen- 
sioners in  Chelsea  Hospital  have  had  wounds  as  bad 
as  mine,  and  a  cripple  more  or  less  in  the  world  does 
not  matter  very  much.  Women  are  kind  enough  to 
pity  me.  They  even  confide  their  troubles  to  me 
sometimes,  because  I  am  a  poor  thing  lying  on  a 
sofa.  I  am  really  quite  happy  hobbling  about  with 
you,  Palestrina;  and  when  I  am  older,  I  shall  prob- 
ably take  an  interest  in  the  garden.  There  is  a 
proper  and  philosophical  attitude  of  mind  in  respect 
of  these  things." 

"Oh,  Hugo,"  said  Palestrina,  "I  always  know 
you  are  not  happy  when  you  begin  to  be  philosophi- 
cal." 

"Life  is  very  easily  explained  without  the  assist- 
ance of  philosophy  when  everything  goes  all  right," 
I  replied. 


108 


Chapter  VII 

HAVE  I  ever  mentioned  that  Palestrma  is  engaged 
to  be  married?  If  I  have  not  done  so,  it  is  because 
it  seems  an  obvious  fact  that  all  Palestrinas  are 
engaged.  Her  fiance,  who  is  called  Thomas,  is  sta- 
tioned with  his  regiment  in  Ireland.  A  few  weeks 
ago  he  sent  her,  as  a  token  of  his  affection,  a  yellow 
dog  with  long  hair.  Palestrina  does  not  like  dogs, 
but  she  is  trying  to  love  Down-Jock  for  Thomas's 
sake.  She  says  his  name  is  Jock.  The  dog  is  a 
curious  creature,  with  a  passion  for  hurling  himself 
at  those  who  wear  clean  flannel  trousers  or  light 
skirts.  Thomas  says  he  is  full  of  intelligence.  He 
appears  to  be  quite  a  young  animal,  but  he  can  affect 
the  airs  of  extreme  old  age,  sleeping  in  a  basket  a 
great  part  of  the  day,  or  standing  on  the  doorstep  to 
bark  at  visitors  in  an  asthmatical  manner,  as  though 
he  would  say,  "  I  am  too  old  and  feeble  to  give 
chase,  but  while  I  am  alive  this  house  shall  not  lack 
a  defender."  At  other  times  he  is  wildly  juvenile, 
and  rolls  himself  over  and  over  in  an  exuberance  of 
youthful  fun.  This  is  chiefly  on  Sundays,  when  (his 

109 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

best  joke)  he  pretends  he  wants  to  come  to  church 
with  us.  Sunday  is  Down-Jock's  happiest  day  in  all 
the  week.  No  Christian  in  the  land  loves  it  more 
than  he  does.  He  begins  his  religious  exercises  early 
in  the  morning  by  barking  outside  the  doors  of  all 
those  people  who  have  determined  to  take  an  extra 
half-hour's  rest,  and  he  continues  barking  without 
ceasing  until  the  sleeper  awakes  and  gets  out  of  bed 
to  open  the  door  for  him.  He  bustles  in  and  wags 
his  tail  cheerfully,  saying  as  plainly  as  a  dog  can 
say  it,  "  I  am  an  early  riser,  you  see — and  a  teeto- 
taler," he  adds,  trotting  across  the  room  to  the  water- 
jug,  and  lapping  full  red  tonguefuls  of  its  contents. 
Then  he  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  barks 
at  you ;  runs  to  the  door  and  barks  at  it ;  barks  at  the 
servants  as  they  go  down  stairs,  promising — the  little 
tell-tale ! — that  their  lateness  shall  be  reported  in  the 
proper  quarter.  Finally,  he  climbs  on  to  the  bed, 
and  goes  to  sleep  upon  your  feet. 

During  breakfast  he  is  attentive  to  everyone,  and 
sits  on  the  skirts  of  those  ladies  who  most  dislike 
dogs,  and  pulls  them  down  uncomfortably  from  the 
waist.  He  watches  every  mouthful  of  food  that  is 
eaten,  and  grudges  it  to  the  eater;  and  his  eyes  are 
saving  all  the  time,  "  How  can  you  be  so  greedy?  " 
After  breakfast  his  most  boisterous  juvenile  mood 

110 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

begins.  He  jumps  on  everyone,  or  rolls  himself 
over  and  over  under  everyone's  feet.  He  wags  his 
tail,  barks  in  a  piercing  manner — the  bark  of  the  gay 
young  dog — and  madly  rushes  after  imaginary  rats. 
All  gloves  and  shoes  become  his  playthings,  and  he 
frolics  blithely  with  the  hat-brush. 

On  weekdays  he  pleads  old  age  as  an  excuse,  and 
refuses  to  come  anywhere  with  us;  but  on  the  Sab- 
bath morning,  who  so  ready  as  Down-Jock  to  take 
his  walks  abroad?  He  flies  after  us  to  the  gate,  his 
long  hair  streaming  in  the  wind,  and  his  short  legs 
racing  like  a  clockwork  dog. 

Palestrina  says :  "  Oh,  dear,  what  shall  we  do  ? 
Down,  Jock !  down,  sir !  Oh,  he  has  spoilt  my  dress ! 
Good  doggie,  mustn't  go  to  church!  Go  home!  go 
home !  Oh,  Jock,  do  get  down !  Look,  he  is  follow- 
ing us  still,  and  the  church  door  is  always  open;  he 
is  sure  to  come  in  in  the  middle  of  the  service  and 
trot  up  to  us  in  our  pew.  Do  you  think  Thomas 
would  mind  if  I  looked  as  if  he  didn't  belong  to 
us?" 

Jock  flies  back  with  an  old  bone  in  his  mouth  and 
deposits  it  at  Palestrina's  feet,  and  dares  her  to  touch 
it,  and  makes  flying  snatches  at  her  shoes  when  she 
kicks  the  treasure  aside. 

"  I  must  take  him  back,"  says  Palestrina.  "  It 
111 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

will  make  me  late,  of  course,  but  I  must  go  and  shut 
him  up." 

"  He  won't  follow  you,"  I  say.  "  He  is  quite  de- 
termined to  go  to  church." 

Palestrina  lifts  the  heavy  beast  in  her  arms,  and 
in  an  exuberance  of  joy  Down- Jock  makes  a  doormat 
of  her  dress,  and  rubs  his  paws  affectionately  against 
it  and  licks  her  hand. 

Of  course,  he  escapes  presently  and  runs  after  us ; 
that  is  his  best  and  most  killing  joke.  Inwardly 
one  feels  he  is  in  a  state  of  hardly  suppressed  laughter 
as  he  tears  down  the  road  again  barking  with  glee. 
And  then  he  gets  a  sober  fit,  walks  demurely  in  front 
of  us  in  the  narrow  field-path,  changes  his  mind 
suddenly  about  going  to  church,  stops  dead  short, 
and  trips  us  up;  thinks  after  all  he  ought  to  go  to 
the  morning  service  as  an  example  to  the  servants; 
toddles  on  again,  and  stops  to  say  (with  the  air  of 
extreme  old  age  again  assumed)  that,  after  all,  he  is 
not  up  to  the  exertion,  and  would  have  to  sit  down 
at  the  Psalms,  so  perhaps  it  would  really  be  better  to 
stay  quietly  at  home.  Another  stop.  A  rapid  toilet 
performed  by  scratching  his  head  with  his  hind-leg, 
"  just  in  case  I  meet  anyone  coming  out  of  church 
whom  I  know  " ;  and  then  Down-Jock  meets  a  boy 
friend  strolling  off  to  the  fields,  and,  running  up  to 

112 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

him,  says :  "  One  must  conform  to  conventionalities, 
but  between  you  and  me  I  never  had  the  remotest 
intention  of  going  to  church." 

Down-Jock,  in  his  moments  of  most  restless 
activity,  always  reminds  me  of  a  servant  of  ours 
who  has  occasional  fits  of  the  most  intense  energy. 
It  begins  quite  early  in  the  morning,  when  she  gets 
up  some  hours  before  her  usual  time,  and  gives  a 
sort  of  surprise  party  to  the  rest  of  the  household. 
These  parties  take  place  two  or  three  times  a  year, 
and  we  do  not  get  over  them  for  weeks  afterwards. 
Every  room  in  the  house  is  visited  in  turn,  and  de- 
linquencies of  a  year  are  laid  bare.  During  the 
morning  cupboards  are  turned  out  in  a  magisterial 
sort  of  way,  and  dusty  corners  are  triumphantly 
displayed.  The  most  cherished  rubbish  is  freely  con- 
signed to  the  waste-paper  baskets,  and  collections 
of  all  sorts  are  contemptuously  swept  away.  We 
hastily  gather  up  books  and  precious  oddments,  and 
hurry  off  with  them  to  my  den,  where  we  take  refuge 
till  the  whirlwind  is  past.  Curtains  and  tablecloths 
are  shaken  with  a  sort  of  vindictive  energy  at  the 
back-door,  all  windows  are  flung  open,  and  rugs  are 
rolled  up,  making  a  sort  of  obstacle  race  in  every 
passage  and  room.  Down-Jock,  who  never  recog- 
nises a  superior  in  anyone,  is  the  only  one  of  the 

113 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

party  who  is  not  rendered  an  abject  coward  in  these 
days.  He  unrolls  rugs,  and  runs  away  with  dusters, 
and  snaps  at  the  heels  of  the  housemaid  in  a  way 
that  provokes  one's  wonder  at  his  temerity.  My 
sister  and  I,  having  locked  away  our  most  cherished 
possessions,  generally  contrive  to  be  out  of  the  house 
as  much  as  possible  on  one  of  these  tempestuous  days. 
And  following  the  line  of  reasoning,  not  of  the  high- 
est order,  which  suggests  that  if  one  cannot  be  happy, 
one  had  better  try  and  be  good,  Palestrina  always 
visits  her  old  women  at  the  workhouse  on  these  days. 

"  I  wish,"  she  said  to  me,  "  that  you  would  walk 
into  the  village  and  meet  me  on  my  way  home.  I 
don't  think  anybody  is  coming  up  to  see  you  this 
afternoon,  and  the  house  is  so  uncomfortable  when 
Janet  is  in  one  of  her  whirlwind  moods.  Come  as 
far  as  the  corner,  and  go  in  and  sit  down  at  old 
Pettifer's  if  you  get  tired." 

"  Shadrach  Pettifer  tells  me,"  I  said,  "  that  his 
affection  for  you  is  based  on  the  fact  that  you  are 
so  like  his  poor  old  mother.  Perhaps  while  I  am 
waiting  at  his  cottage  he  may  give  me  further  inter- 
esting facts  about  you." 

Shadey  is  an  old  man  with  a  bent  back  and  curious 
bright  eyes  that  gleam  under  a  heavy  thatch  of  eye- 
brow. His  wife  is  the  very  thinnest  old  woman  that 

114 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

I  have  ever  seen;  her  cheeks  have  fallen  In,  and 
are  so  very  wrinkled  that  they  always  remind  me  of 
a  toy  balloon  that  a  child  has  pricked  with  a  pin. 
She  is  always  ill  and  never  complaining.  Any  ex- 
pression of  sympathy  seems  foreign  to  her  compre- 
hension, and  the  "  Poor  thing !  "  or  "  I  am  so  sorry," 
so  eagerly  accepted  by  more  fortunate  folk,  is  re- 
ceived by  her  with  a  certain  air  of  independence. 
Last  winter  Mrs.  Pettifer  was  dangerously  ill  with 
internal  gout,  but  expressions  of  condolence  to  her 
were  always  met  with  the  rather  curious  reply, 
"  Well,  you  see,  sir,  we  must  have  something  to  bring 
us  to  our  end."  There  is  a  whole  world  of  philosophy 
in  this. 

To-day  the  old  couple  spent  the  time  while  I 
waited  for  Palestrina  in  their  cottage  in  describing 
to  me  the  last  days  in  the  life  of  their  tortoise,  an 
old  friend  and  an  animal  of  evidently  strange  and 
unusual  qualities.  Towards  the  close  of  its  life  it 
was,  on  the  testimony  of  the  Pettifers,  taken  with 
screaming  fits,  and  it  even  had  to  be  held  down 
"  when  the  high-strikes  was  wuss."  Later,  it  used 
to  run  round  and  round  as  never  was.  And  at  last 
Shadey  determined  to  release  it  from  this  earthly 
tabernacle.  He  asked  his  friend  Bridgeman,  Anthony 
Crawshay's  head  keeper,  to  come  round  some  evening 

115 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

and  administer  poison  to  the  unfortunate  beast,  and 
the  effect  of  the  dose  was  as  strange  as  it  was  un- 
expected. The  poison  was  the  first  thing  for  weeks 
that  poor  Toots  the  tortoise  had  seemed  to  enjoy. 
It  seemed,  to  quote  again  from  the  testimony  of  those 
most  intimately  acquainted  with  the  animal,  to  "  put 
new  life  into  Toots,"  and  the  more  poison  that  was 
administered  the  livelier  did  he  become,  "  until  he 
was  that  gay  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  ha*  laughed 
at  yer !  "  Finally,  I  understand  that  when  sufficient 
poison  had  been  given  to  kill  two  cart-horses  the 
afflicted  animal  yielded  to  treatment,  and  its  shell 
now  adorns  the  kitchen  dresser. 

We  returned  home  to  find  the  house  smelling  of 
furniture  polish,  and  permeated  with  a  certain  cold 
primness  which  succeeds  a  tidying  up,  and  can  only 
be  dispelled  by  a  glowing  fire.  One  by  one  things 
were  brought  back  to  the  hall,  and  we  felt  like  snails 
creeping  out  in  the  evening  after  a  day  of  rain. 
Banished  property  strewed  the  tables  again,  and 
Palestrina  opened  the  piano  and  spread  it  with 
music.  It  was  an  act  of  defiance,  but  comfortable, 
nevertheless,  to  collect  the  cushions  which  had  been 
dotted  primly  about  in  clean  muslin  covers,  and  to 
pile  them  all  on  to  the  sofa  before  the  fire.  But 
Down-Jock,  who  always  goes  one  better  than  any- 

116 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

one  else,  contributed  still  more  completely  to  the 
systematized  disorganization  of  the  house.  He  gaily 
wiped  his  muddy  feet  on  clean  paint,  and  tore  blithely 
round  after  imaginary  rats  wherever  order  reigned. 
Finally,  in  an  exuberance  of  joy,  he  made  a  hearty 
supper  off  Palestrina?s  manuscript  book  of  music 
and  barked  with  glee. 

And  yet  some  people  say  that  dogs  are  not  intelli- 
gent! 


117 


Chapter  VIII 

THE  UNCLE,  Sir  John,  is  coming  to  stay  at  the 
Taylors',  and  the  town  is  in  something  of  a  flutter 
over  this  event.  It  was  hoped  that  the  Taylors  would 
give  a  tea-party  in  honour  of  their  guest,  but  there 
is  a  shrewd  notion  abroad  that  no  one  will  be  allowed 
to  see  very  much  of  him  except  at  a  distance.  The 
Taylors  had  hoped  that  there  would  be  some  occasion 
during  his  visit  at  which  the  Uncle  might  speak  in 
public,  and  Mr.  Taylor  has  tried,  half  jestingly,  to 
induce  his  brother  townsfolk  to  arrange  what  he  calls 
"  something  in  the  political  line,"  while  the  august 
relative  is  staying  with  him.  I  think  we  owe  it  to 
the  fact  that  the  political  meeting  was  found  to  be 
an  impossibility  that  we  were  asked  to  tea  at  the 
Taylors'. 

Invitations,  instead  of  taking  the  form  of  a  friendly 
note,  after  the  pattern  of  Stowel  invitations  in  gen- 
eral, were  conveyed  on  one  of  Mrs.  Taylor's  visiting 
cards,  with  "  At  home,  Thursday  the  17th,  four  to 
seven,"  upon  it.  "  A  little  abrupt,"  ladies  of  Stowel 
were  inclined  to  think,  but,  of  course,  the  Taylors 
are  people  of  some  importance  in  the  place.  No  one 

118 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

knew  quite  how  to  answer  the  invitation,  and  a  good 
many  friendly  little  visits  were  paid  on  the  afternoon 
on  which  they  arrived,  at  which  the  mysterious  card 
was  produced  from  a  bag  or  purse,  with  the  smiling 
apology,  "  I  am  sure  fashions  change  so  quickly 
that  one  hardly  knows  how  to  keep  up  with  them." 
And  then  ideas  were  exchanged  as  to  the  reply  suit- 
able to  such  a  form  of  invitation.  Miss  Tracey  said 
that  she  always  thought  that  an  invitation  was  ac- 
cepted in  as  nearly  as  possible  the  same  manner  in 
which  it  was  given,  and  she  announced  that  she  and 
her  sister  meant  to  return  one  of  their  own  visiting- 
cards  to  Mrs.  Taylor,  with  the  day  and  the  hour 
named  upon  it,  and  "  With  pleasure  "  written  un- 
derneath. This  was  considered  suitable,  for  the  most 
part,  but  those  who  still  had  doubts  upon  the  subject 
made  elaborate  efforts  to  meet  Mrs.  Taylor  during 
the  morning's  shopping,  and  to  say  to  her,  in  a 
friendly  way,  "  We  are  coming,  of  course,  on  Thurs- 
day. Will  you  excuse  our  writing  a  note,  at  this 
busy  time?  " 

The  Miss  Blinds  always  send  their  thanks  for  a 
"  polite  invitation  "  in  the  old  style,  but  on  this  occa- 
sion Miss  Lydia  was  obliged  to  send  regrets  as  well 
as  thanks,  as  she  had  not  been  very  well  lately.  She, 
I  suppose,  was  the  only  person  in  Stowel  who  did  not 

119 


A   Lame   Dog's    Diary 

accept  Mrs.  Taylor's  invitation.  Two  parties  are, 
of  course,  never  given  on  the  same  day,  and  it  would 
be  considered  eccentric  to  prefer  staying  at  home 
to  going  out. 

"  I  am  sorry  Miss  Lydia  cannot  come,"  said  Mr. 
Taylor,  when  the  notes  of  acceptance  were  being 
opened  at  breakfast-time ;  "  after  all,  it  is  not  every 
day  that  people  have  a  chance  of  meeting  so  dis- 
tinguished a  man  as  the  General." 

"  Miss  Lydia  was  never  intrusive,"  said  Mrs.  Tay- 
lor. 

Mrs.  Lovekin  was  one  of  those  who  avoided  the 
difficulty  raised  by  Mrs.  Taylor's  unusual  form  of 
invitation,  by  meeting  her  accidentally  in  the  baker's 
shop,  where  an  assortment  of  cakes  was  being  ordered 
for  the  tea-party,  and  signifying  her  intention  of 
coming  to  tea.  "  No  need  to  write,  I  suppose?  "  said 
Mrs.  Lovekin  lightly,  "  as  I  have  met  you."  Both 
Mrs.  Taylor  and  the  baker's  wife  thought  it  would 
have  been  in  better  taste  if  Mrs.  Lovekin  had  then 
withdrawn,  instead  of  remaining  in  the  shop  and  hear- 
ing what  was  being  ordered. 

Mrs.  Taylor  had  made  up  her  mind  at  an  early 
stage  in  the  proceedings  that  she  would  be  very  firm 
indeed  upon  the  matter  of  dispensing  tea  herself  in 
her  own  house.  She  would  appropriate  one  teapot, 

120 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

and  her  daughter  should  have  the  other,  and  not 
even  to  shake  hands  with  a  late-arriving  guest  would 
they  run  the  risk  of  letting  this  badge  of  office  fall 
into  the  hands  of  the  co-hostess. 

"  And  if,"  said  Mrs.  Taylor,  "  I  find  that  she  is 
appropriating  The  Uncle  too  much,  I  shall  not  hesi- 
tate to  remove  him,  on  the  plea  of  introducing  him 
to  some  other  and  more  important  guests." 

It  was  in  church  on  Sunday  that  we  were  first 
allowed  to  see  The  Uncle,  and  this  is  only  following 
the  usual  custom  in  Stowel.  Church  on  Sunday  is, 
as  it  were,  the  public  life  of  the  town.  After  a  death, 
it  is  customary  to  wait  until  the  family  has  appeared 
in  church  to  pay  visits  of  condolence — not  so  much 
to  avoid  intrusiveness  in  the  first  hour  of  grief  as 
from  a  feeling  that  perhaps  the  crape  mourning  will 
not  have  arrived.  In  the  same  way,  if  anyone  moves 
into  a  new  house — a  very  unusual  proceeding — we 
are  made  aware  that  the  carpets  are  all  down,  and 
the  drawing-room  curtains  are  hung,  when  the  new 
arrivals  are  seen  in  their  pew  on  Sunday.  This, 
also,  is  accepted  as  a  token  that  calling  may  now 
begin.  Mrs.  Taylor  said  afterwards,  in  describing 
that  first  Sunday  when  The  Uncle  appeared  in  Stowel 
Church,  that  her  heart  beat  so  painfully  at  the  door 
that  she  thought  she  would  have  been  obliged  to  turn 

121 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

back.  It  was  a  triumphal  progress  that  the  party 
of  four  made  up  the  centre  aisle  to  their  pew,  but  the 
inward  excitement  of  the  Taylors  made  a  natural 
deportment  difficult.  Neither  Mrs.  Taylor  nor  her 
daughter  joined  in  the  hymns  or  the  responses  that 
Sunday  morning.  It  is  doubtful  whether  they  heard 
a  word  of  the  service. 

Sir  John  is  a  very  military-looking  person,  with 
white  whiskers  and  a  bald  pink  head.  He  sat  between 
Mrs.  and  Miss  Taylor,  who  supplied  him  with  hymn 
and  prayer-books  in  as  natural  a  manner  as  they 
found  it  possible  to  assume;  and  Mr.  Taylor  sat  at 
the  end  of  the  pew  with  a  genial  expression  on  his 
face  and  a  look  of  tempered  pride,  due,  no  doubt,  to 
the  fact  that  the  General  was  "  one  of  my  wife's 
people,"  and  not  a  blood  relation  of  his  own. 

It  was  a  disappointment  to  Mr.  Taylor  that  his 
own  sister,  Mrs.  Macdonald — widow  of  a  Scotch  gen- 
tleman, whom  the  Taylors  always  talk  of  as  "  the 
Laird  " — was  not  able  to  come  to  this  family  gather- 
ing. But  Mrs.  Macdonald  pleaded  spring  cleaning 
as  an  insuperable  objection  to  leaving  home  at 
present. 

As  Miss  Taylor,  Mrs.  Macdonald  used  to  be  one 
of  Stowel's  central  figures,  for  she  was  a  lady  of  con- 
siderable means  and  an  indefatigable  housekeeper; 

122 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

and  Mr.  Macdonald  was   considered  to  have  done 
well  when  he  took  her  as  his  bride  to  the  North. 

The  Sunday  on  which  the  Taylors  appeared  in 
church  with  The  Uncle  was  curiously  hot  for  the  time 
of  year.  It  was  very  stuffy  in  church,  and  Miss 
Lydia  had  a  slight  fainting  attack,  and  had  to  leave 
before  the  service  was  over.  Following  the  accepted 
custom  in  Stowel,  my  sister  called  the  next  day  to 
ask  how  she  did.  But  even  indisposition,  usually  a 
matter  of  solemn  pleasure  with  us,  was  overshadowed 
and  shorn  of  its  interest  by  the  presence  of  The  Uncle 
amongst  us.  Even  the  Vicar  looked  keenly  at  him 
from  the  pulpit  before  his  sermon  began,  but  no 
one  except  Mrs.  Lovekin  was  forward  enough  to  ad- 
dress the  august  party  as  they  left  the  church. 
Mrs.  Lovekin,  who  always  affirmed  that  she  saw  no 
difference  in  rank,  was  the  very  first  person  in  Stowel 
to  shake  hands  with  The  Uncle.  She  overtook  the 
Taylors  before  they  had  even  reached  the  gate  of  the 
churchyard,  and  was  perforce  introduced  to  their 
relative,  "  who,"  Mrs.  Taylor  said  afterwards,  "  was 
almost  more  cordial  than  she  could  have  wished  him 
to  be;  but,  of  course,  his  manners  were  always  per- 
fect." What  annoyed  everyone  a  little  in  the  days 
that  followed  was  that  Mrs.  Lovekin  constantly  re- 
ferred to  the  General  as  if  he  had  been  an  old  friend, 

123 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

whereas,  of  course,  it  was  well  known  in  what  an 
intrusive  way  her  precedence  had  been  gained.  Dur- 
ing the  week,  however,  we  all  had  an  opportunity  of 
seeing  Sir  John,  for  he  was  marched  in  triumph  up 
and  down  the  village  street  regularly  twice  a  day. 
Miss  Taylor  even  condescended  to  subterfuge  in  the 
matter.  For  having  taken  The  Uncle  as  far  as  the 
baker's  at  the  end  of  the  town,  with  a  view  to 
continuing  the  walk  into  the  country  at  The  Uncle's 
request,  she  pretended  to  have  forgotten  something 
at  the  draper's,  and  marched  him  down  the  street 
again,  in  the  proud  knowledge  that  all  eyes,  whether 
from  pedestrians  or  from  the  interior  of  shops  and 
houses  in  the  High  Street,  were  turned  upon  her. 
The  tobacconist,  where  The  Uncle  bought  some  to- 
bacco, gave  Miss  Taylor  quite  a  sympathetic  look 
as  he  said :  "  Allow  me  to  send  it  for  you,  Sir  John." 
And  Miss  Taylor  said :  "  Do  allow  him  to  send  it, 
Uncle!  I  am  sure  that  you  ought  not  to  carry 
parcels  for  yourself." 

On  Thursday,  when  we  went  to  the  party,  we  saw 
at  once  that  the  Taylors  meant  to  make  no  snobbish 
distinction  between  their  guests,  but  that  each  and 
every  one  of  them  was  to  be  introduced  to  The 
Uncle. 

"  I  am  no  good  at  this  sort  of  thing,  Mary,"  The 
124 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

Uncle  said  before  the  party  began,  "  and  I  think  I 
will  walk  over  and  see  Willie  Jacobs,  and  spend  the 
afternoon  with  him."  Mrs.  Taylor  turned  pale  at 
the  suggestion.  "  It  will  ruin  it ! "  she  said.  "  I 
shall  feel  as  if  I  had  been  acting  on  false  pretences." 
And  though  the  General  remained  as  he  had  been  re- 
quested to  do,  he  showed  a  most  irritating  tendency 
to  slip  away,  and  sometimes  he  was  not  to  be  found 
at  the  most  critical  moments.  Mrs.  Taylor  stationed 
him  close  to  herself  in  the  drawing-room,  where  she 
received  her  guests.  But  at  the  very  moment  when 
she  turned  round  to  effect  an  introduction  between 
him  and  some  particular  friend,  it  was  discovered 
that  the  General  had  slipped  off  to  the  smoking- 
room  or  the  tea-room,  or  was  wandering  aimlessly 
about  the  garden  looking  at  the  flower-beds. 

Altogether,  that  most  successful  afternoon  (and 
the  Taylors  really  did  feel  that  it  had  been  a  success 
from  the  very  highest  point  of  view)  had  still  some 
drawbacks  to  it,  which  they  regret,  and  always  will 
regret.  For  instance,  when  Miss  Taylor  had  been 
despatched  into  what  the  Taylors  call  the  "  grounds  " 
to  see  "  what  The  Uncle  is  doing  "  (playfully) ,  "  and 
tell  him  to  come  and  make  himself  agreeable,"  she 
had  hardly  departed  to  fulfil  her  mother's  request 
when  Mrs.  Lovekin  bore  down  upon  the  teapot, 

125 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

poured  out  several  of  the  most  distinguished  cups  of 
tea,  and  handed  round  macaroons  as  though  they 
were  her  own.  Last  of  all,  as  the  party  was  breaking 
up,  and  Mrs.  Lovekin's  vicarious  hospitality  was 
therefore  at  an  end,  she  was  actually  heard  inviting 
The  Uncle  to  come  and  call  upon  her.  Even  the  Miss 
Blinds,  on  being  told  of  the  incident,  admitted  that 
this  behaviour  on  Mrs.  Lovekin's  part  could  not  be 
called  anything  but  forward.  Miss  Lydia  could 
only  say,  in  a  sort  of  sweet  distress,  "  perhaps  she 
did  not  mean  it";  but  Miss  Blind  shook  her  head 
vigorously,  and  said,  "  Bad  butter,  bad  butter,  bad 
butter!" 

Margaret  Jamieson  had,  of  course,  been  helping  to 
prepare  the  party,  for  Margaret  Jamieson  always 
helps  whenever  there  is  anything  to  be  done.  And 
Eliza,  we  thought,  made  a  deep  impression  upon  The 
Uncle  by  her  knowledge  of  literature,  and  the  per- 
fectly easy  and  natural  way  in  which,  without  a 
moment's  preparation,  she  alluded  to  the  "  atomic 
theory." 

"  Ah !  you  are  one  of  the  Reading  Society  young 
ladies  that  I  heard  about.  Sorry  I  couldn't  do  more 
for  you  in  the  way  of  books,  but  that's  not  in  my 
line  at  all,  you  know.  I  was  educated  at  a  Grammar 
School,  and  I  never  had  the  advantages  that  you 

126 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

young  people  have  nowadays."  (Mrs.  Taylor  thought 
this  statement  unnecessary,  but  reflected  that  great 
men  often  made  allusions  of  this  sort.)  "  However, 
if  I  ever  can  be  of  any  use  to  you — getting  you  an 
order  for  reading  at  the  British  Museum,  or  any- 
thing of  that  sort — I  hope  you  will  let  me  know." 

For  one  brief  day  the  Jamiesons  were  inclined  to 
teaze  Eliza  about  having  made  a  conquest,  but  the 
Taylors  would  not  have  any  nonsense  of  that  sort 
for  a  moment.  It  made  Mrs.  Taylor  quite  nervous  to 
think  of  such  a  thing,  and  she  remarked  that  that 
was  the  worst  of  having  distinguished  people  to  stop 
with  one ;  there  was  always  somebody  running  after 
them.  Eliza  Jamieson,  we  noticed,  was  treated  with 
marked  coldness  by  the  Taylors  for  some  time  after- 
wards, and  Miss  Taylor  recollected  darkly  that  it 
was  Eliza's  suggestion  in  the  first  instance  that  The 
Uncle  should  be  consulted  on  the  choice  of  books  for 
the  Reading  Society.  "  She  may,"  said  Miss  Taylor, 
"  have  had  an  eye  on  him  from  the  first." 

A  purely  visionary  affair  of  this  sort,  however, 
could  not  be  considered  satisfactory  or  exciting,  even 
by  the  Jamiesons,  and  the  Taylors'  suspicions  and 
anxieties  were  put  on  one  side  for  the  time  being — 
ousted  from  their  place,  as  it  were,  by  the  very  dis- 
tinct and  exciting  rumours  which  have  reached  us 

127 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

about  Maud.  Maud  has  been  saying  with  friends 
at  Hampstead,  and  has  written  home  in  a  certain 
veiled  way  which  is  very  provoking,  but  which,  never- 
theless, gives  the  impression  that  Maud,  to  use  The 
Family's  expression,  "  has  had  another."  Another 
man  has  come  to  the  point,  and  proposed  to  Maud 
Jamieson.  Maud  seems  out  of  spirits,  and  has  writ- 
ten to  say  that  she  is  returning,  which  makes  the  sis- 
ters think  that  she  must  have  accepted  her  present 
suitor,  and  is  coming  home  to  shed  a  few  natural 
tears.  Eliza,  who  walked  over  to  tell  us  the  news, 
voiced  The  Family's  opinion  when  she  said :  "  We 
have  quite  made  up  our  minds  that  if  Maud  has  said 
*  Yes  '  she  is  to  stick  to  it  this  time.  She  is  always 
in  a  panic  directly  she  has  accepted  anyone,  but  we 
know  that  it  would  be  the  same  whoever  it  was,  and 
doubtless,  unless  we  are  firm,  she  will  treat  this 
admirer  just  as  she  treated  Mr.  Reddy  and  Albert 
Gore  and  the  others.  Mamma  says  that  she  will 
not  have  Maud  coerced,  and  I  am  sure  no  one 
wants  to  coerce  her;  but  why  should  she  always  get 
to  a  certain  point,  and  then  begin  to  have  doubts? 
It  is  so  unbusinesslike." 

The  very  next  day  Maud  Jamieson  came  to  tea. 
She  looked  well  dressed,  as  usual,  and  had  some 
pretty  spring  finery  about  her — yellow  mimosa 

128 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

wreathing  a  broad  hat  and  some  yellow  ribbons  about 
her  tasteful  dress — but  her  pretty  face  looked  very 
white,  and  Maud  fidgeted  nervously  for  half  an  hour, 
and  then  told  me  I  was  so  sympathetic  she  would  like 
to  ask  me  something. 

"  I  daresay,"  she  said,  "  that  you  have  heard  some- 
thing about  Mr.  Evans  from  The  Family?  " 

I  admitted  that  I  had,  and  then  there  was  a  very 
long  pause. 

"  How  is  one  to  know,"  said  Maud,  "  when  it  is 
the  real  thing?  " 

Another  pause.  I  wished  with  all  my  heart  that 
I  could  have  been  more  helpful  to  this  young  lady 
in  such  evident  distress  of  mind;  but  the  intricacies 
of  Maud's  thoughts  are  most  difficult  to  follow,  and 
I  thought  it  better  to  wait  until  she  had  given  me 
her  entire  confidence. 

"  Little  things,"  said  Maud,  "  might  annoy  one  so 
much  if  one  had  always  to  live  with  a  man.  For 
instance,  I  do  not  think  I  could  ever  truly  love  a 
man  who  sniffs." 

"  Our  friend  Mrs.  Fielden  says,"  I  remarked,  "  that 
a  man  generally  proposes  when  he  has  a  cold  in  his 
head;  but  I  pointed  out  to  her  that  these  statistics 
do  her  no  credit." 

"  Mr.  Evans  doesn't  sniff,"  said  Maud.  "  I  was 
129 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

only  citing  that  as  an  example  of  what  one  might 
find  very  trying  in  a  companion  for  life." 

I  assented,  and  could  only  suggest  hopefully  the 
usual  Jamieson  remedy  that  such  a  defect  might  be 
cured  after  marriage. 

"  But  men  are  so  obstinate  about  some  things," 
said  Maud.  "  For  instance,  suppose  a  man  were  well 
off  and  of  a  really  excellent  character,  do  you  think 
it  would  matter  much  if  he  wore  a  white  watered-silk 
waistcoat  in  the  evening?  Would  it,  for  instance, 
appear  an  insuperable  objection  to  most  minds?" 

I  replied  that  doubtless  it  was  a  serious  fault,  but 
that  I  did  not  consider  it  an  incurable  one,  and  I 
further  remarked  with  what  I  hoped  to  show  a  broad 
and  liberal  way  of  looking  at  things  that  all  men  had 
their  idiosyncrasies.  Maud  admitted  this,  and  seemed 
cheered  by  the  reflection ;  but  she  pushed  the  matter 
further,  and  said  she  would  like  to  know  what  sort 
of  a  man  I  should  presume  anyone  to  be  who  wore  a 
white  watered-silk  waistcoat. 

"  If  you  care  for  Mr.  Evans "  I  began,  and 

regretted  that  one's  articulate  expression  is  some- 
times behindhand  in  the  matter  of  conveying  the  com- 
prehensiveness of  the  inner  working  of  one's  mind. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  care  for  someone  else,"  said  Maud, 
bursting  into  tears. 

130 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  Let  me  see  you  home,"  I  said,  unable  to  think  of 
any  but  this  very  doubtful  method  of  consolation — 
still,  it  seemed  unkind  to  let  her  go  home  alone,  when 
she  had  been  crying. 

On  the  threshold  of  the  Jamiesons*  house  several 
of  The  Family  were  waiting  for  us,  and  they  drew 
me  into  the  drawing-room,  while  by  tacit  consent  it 
seemed  to  be  understood  that  Maud  should  not  join 
in  the  conclave,  but  should  go  straight  upstairs  and 
take  off  her  hat. 

"  Have  you  persuaded  her?  "  said  Eliza. 

"  I  hope  you  have  put  a  little  common  sense  into 
her,"  said  Kate. 

James  was  admitted  to  family  discussions  now, 
and  here  remarked  that  he  believed  that  all  girls  were 
happier  married. 

"  Though,  of  course,"  said  Mettle,  *f  it  is  a  great 
risk." 

"  Did  she  tell  you,"  asked  Gracie,  "  that  she  cares 
for  someone  else?  " 

I  admitted  that  Maud  had  said  something  of  the 
sort.  And  her  family  exclaimed  triumphantly  that 
this  was  always  Maud's  plea  for  releasing  herself 
from  an  engagement  as  soon  as  that  engagement  had 
been  made. 

Mrs.  Jamieson  remarked  that  she  would  not  like 
131 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

any  of  the  girls  to  feel  that  they  were  not  welcome  at 
home,  and  all  her  affectionate  daughters  kissed  her 
in  turn,  or  patted  her  hand  and  said  that  they  knew 
that  such  a  thought  as  wanting  to  get  rid  of  one  of 
them  would  never  enter  her  head. 

Mrs.  Jamieson  here  left  the  room  to  seek  her  ban- 
ished daughter  and  administer  comfort,  and  the 
members  of  The  Family  conclave  said  that  they 
hoped  that  Mrs.  Jamieson  did  not  think  that  they 
had  been  unkind. 

"  If  it  had  not  happened  so  often !  "  sighed  Eliza. 
"  However,  as  we  do  not  know  Mr.  Evans  he  can't 
ask  to  come  down  and  stay  with  us,  as  Mr.  Reddy 
did,  so  as  to  have  an  opportunity  of  pressing  his 
suit." 

"He  cried  so  much  one  afternoon,"  said  Kate, 
turning  in  an  explanatory  sort  of  way  to  Mr.  Ward, 
"  that  I  really  thought  I  should  have  to  send  for 
mamma."  James  looked  sympathetic,  and  Gracie 
added :  "  We  all  really  felt  quite  relieved  when  he 
got  engaged  to  someone  else  three  weeks  afterwards, 
and  we  hear  that  they  are  most  happy,  and  have  got 
a  dear  little  baby." 


132 


Chapter  IX 

MRS.  FIELDEN'S  motor  car  is  still  a  matter  of  absorb- 
ing interest  to  the  inhabitants  of  Stowel.  When  it 
breaks  down,  as  it  frequently  does,  there  is  always  a 
crowd  around  it  immediately.  Our  friends  and  neigh- 
bours in  the  town  have  an  ingenuous  respect  for  any- 
thing that  costs  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  they  are 
quite  congratulatory  to  anyone  who  has  been  for  a 
drive  with  Mrs.  Fielden,  and  they  talk  about  the 
motor  and  its  owner,  and  who  has  seen  it,  and  who 
has  not,  over  their  afternoon  tea. 

The  motor  car  is  a  noisy,  evil-smelling  vehicle  of 
somewhat  rowdy  appearance,  which  leaves  a  trail  be- 
hind it  as  of  a  smoking  lamp.  It  drew  up  at  our 
door  to-day,  and  kicked  and  snorted  impatiently 
until  we  were  ready  to  get  into  it.  The  next  moment, 
with  a  final  angry  snort  and  plunge,  it  started  down 
the  drive  and  whizzed  through  the  village  and  up  the 
hill  on  the  other  side  without  pausing  to  take  breath. 

"  The  worst  of  a  motor  car  is,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden, 
"  that  one  gets  through  everything  so  quickly.  In 
London  I  get  my  shopping  done  in  about  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  and  then  I  take  a  turn  round  Regent's 

133 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

Park,  and  I  find  I  have  put  away  about  ten  minutes, 
so  I  fly  down  to  Richmond,  and  even  then  it  is  too 
early  to  go  to  tea  anywhere.  Talking  of  tea — isn't 
everybody  very  hungry?  I  am  really  ravenous — and 
that  is  the  motor  car's  fault,  too,  because  one  has 
learned  to  want  one's  meals  by  the  amount  of  business 
one  has  got  through,  and  when  one  has  done  a  whole 
afternoon's  work  in  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  one 
is  dying  for  tea,  just  as  if  one  had  occupied  the 
whole  afternoon." 

"  I  have  always  been  ravenous  since  I  was  in  South 
Africa,"  said  one  of  Mrs.  Fielden's  Colonels,  who  had 
driven  over  in  the  motor  car  to  take  care  of  her  and 
to  bring  us  back.  "  I  don't  know  when  I  shall  satisfy 
the  pangs  of  hunger  which  I  acquired  on  the  veldt." 

"  I  think  I  shall  call  on  Mr.  Ellicomb,"  said  Mrs. 
Fielden.  "  I  believe  he  has  excellent  afternoon  teas, 
and  he  is  making  me  an  enamel  box  which  I  should 
like  to  see." 

Ellicomb  said  once  or  twice  as  we  sat  in  his 
picturesque  house  with  its  blue  china  and  old  brass 
work  that  he  only  wished  we  had  given  him  warning 
that  we  were  coming.  We  found  him  with  an  apron 
on,  working  at  his  enamels,  and  when  he  had  dis- 
played this  work  to  us  he  showed  us  his  book-bind- 
ing, and  his  fretwork  carving,  and  his  type-writing 

134 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

machine.  Afterwards  we  had  tea,  which  Ellicomb 
poured  very  deftly  into  his  blue  cups,  having  first 
warmed  the  pot  and  the  cups,  and  flicked  away  one 
or  two  imaginary  specks  of  dirt  from  the  plates  with 
what  appeared  to  be  a  small  lace-trimmed  dinner- 
napkin. 

Mrs.  Fielden  began  to  admire  his  majolica  ware, 
of  which  she  knows  nothing  whatever,  and  Ellicomb 
took  her  for  a  tour  round  his  rooms,  and  asked  her 
to  guess  the  original  uses  of  his  drain-tiles  and  spit- 
toons and  copper  ham-pots.  Afterwards  we  were 
taken  into  the  very  small  conservatory  adjoining  his 
house,  where  every  plant  was  displayed  to  us  in  turn, 
and  we  were  subsequently  shown  his  coal-cellar  and 
his  larder  and  his  ash-pit  before  we  were  allowed  to 
return  to  the  house. 

Ellicomb  smiles  more  often  than  any  other  man 
I  know,  and  he  had  only  one  epithet  to  apply  to  his 
house.  "It's  so  cosy,"  he  said.  "Isn't  it  cosy?" 
"  I  do  think  it's  a  cosy  little  place." 

Mrs.  Fielden  was  charmed  with  everything,  and 
deprecated  the  idea  that  she  might  consider  the  little 
house  very  small  after  Stanby. 

"  I  always  think,"  she  said,  "  that  I  should  much 
prefer  to  live  in  a  place  like  this,  and  then  people 
who  came  to  see  one  really  would  pay  one  a  little 

135 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

attention,  instead  of  talking  of  nothing  but  the 
house." 

The  Colonel  laughed  and  apologized. 

"  Oh,  I  know  Fm  not  half  good  enough  for 
Stanby,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  smiling.  "  But  I  really 
can't  help  it.  I  was  brought  up  in  a  house  with  hot 
and  cold  water  upstairs  and  white  paint,  and  I  sup- 
pose I  never  can  really  appreciate  anything  else." 

If  I  had  to  describe  Mrs.  Fielden  I  should  say  she 
is  almost  impertinently  modern.  The  dignity  of  her 
surroundings  has  never  affected  her  in  the  very 
smallest  degree,  and  I  do  not  believe  that  the  tradi- 
tions of  the  house  interest  her  in  the  very  least.  I 
am  quite  aware  that  she  asked  me  to  write  out  the 
history  of  Lady  Hylda,  for  instance,  simply  because 
it  is  part  of  her  charm  always  to  ask  one  to  do  some- 
thing for  her.  It  is  the  fashion  to  wait  upon  Mrs. 
Fielden's  behests,  and  it  would  appear  almost  an 
unkindness  to  her  many  men  friends  if  she  did  not 
give  them  some  commission  to  do  when  they  go  up  to 
town.  Her  manner  of  thanking  one  for  a  service 
is  almost  as  pretty  as  her  manner  of  asking  it,  and  I 
am  really  not  surprised  that  she  is  the  most  popular 
woman  in  the  country-side. 

Mr.  Ellicomb  said  ecstatically  that  the  dim  twi- 
light at  Stanby  was  one  of  the  most  impressive  things 

136 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

he  knew,  and  he  added  with  a  shudder  that  he  always 
expected  to  see  ghosts  there. 

Mrs.  Fielden  does  not  believe  in  ghosts  except  on 
those  occasions  when  she  has  someone  very  charm- 
ing to  defend  her,  and  she  spends  her  evenings  in  a 
cheerful  white  boudoir  in  the  modern  part  of  the 
house. 

Having  admired  all  the  majolica  plates  in  the 
house,  and  having  completely  bewildered  her  host 
by  showing  an  interest  in  him  and  his  possessions 
one  minute  and  complete  indifference  the  next,  Mrs. 
Fielden  relapsed  into  one  of  those  little  silences 
which  are  so  characteristic  of  her.  Her  silence  is 
one  of  the  most  provoking  things  about  her.  She 
has  been  witty  and  amusing  the  moment  before, 
and  then  relapses  into  silence  in  the  most  natural 
manner  possible,  and  her  face  takes  a  certain  wistful 
look,  and  a  man  wonders  how  he  can  comfort  her  or 
whether  he  has  offended  her. 

"  I  think  we  ought  to  go  now,"  she  said,  coming 
out  of  this  wistful  reverie  like  a  child  awaking  from 
sleep.  "  Is  everyone  ready  ?  " 

We  got  into  the  motor  car  again  and  sped  onwards 
along  the  smooth  white  road.  Every  turn  made  a 
picture  which  I  suppose  an  artist  would  love  to 
paint.  There  were  red-roofed  cottages  smothered 

137 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

in  bloom  of  plum  blossom  and  simple  palings  set 
across  a  gap  of  hedge,  with  gardens  beyond  filled 
with  spring  flowers.  Now  a  labourer,  gray-coated 
and  bent  with  age,  passed  by  like  a  flash,  as  he 
tramped  slowly  homewards  from  his  work,  and  some 
school-children,  loitering  to  pick  primroses  under 
the  hedges,  dropped  their  slates  and  satchels  in  the 
ditch,  and  called  to  each  other  to  take  care,  as 
they  clung  together  and  shouted  "  Hurrah ! "  as  we 
passed. 

The  park  gates  of  Stanby  are  lion  guarded  and  of 
stone,  and  then  a  long  carriage-drive  takes  one  up  to 
the  house.  The  park  round  the  old  gray  pile  was 
starred  with  primroses,  and  ghost-like  little  lambs 
were  capering  noiselessly  in  the  fields.  The  scent 
of  wallflowers  was  blown  to  us  from  a  great  brown 
ribbon  of  them  round  the  walls  of  the  lodgekeeper's 
house  as  we  swung  through  the  gates.  The  sheep 
in  the  park,  bleating  to  their  young,  drew  away  from 
the  palings  where  they  had  been  rubbing  their  woolly 
sides,  and  made  off  to  the  further  corner  of  the  field, 
and  Mrs.  Fielden's  gray  pony  in  the  paddock  tossed 
his  heels  in  a  vindictive  fashion  at  us  at  a  distance  of 
fifty  yards  or  more.  And  the  motor  car  drew  up  with 
a  jerk  at  the  great  doors  of  the  house. 

Stanby  is  not  quite  so  large  now  as  it  originally 
138 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

was,  immense  though  the  house  undoubtedly  is,  and 
only  some  ruins  on  the  north  side  show  where  the 
chapel  used  to  stand.  A  mound  within  the  ruin's 
wall  marks  the  resting-place  of  Hylda — Hylda, 
whose  history  I  wrote  out  at  the  request  of  Mrs. 
Fielden  and  sent  to  her;  but  I  don't  suppose  she 
has  ever  read  it. 

The  evening  of  our  arrival  at  Stanby  it  pleased 
Mrs.  Fielden  to  put  on  an  old-fashioned  dress  of 
stiffest  brocade,  which  she  had  found  in  some  old 
chest  in  the  house.  She  wore  a  high  comb  of  pearls 
in  her  dark  hair,  and  looked  a  very  regal  and  beauti- 
ful figure  in  the  great  dining-hall  and  drawing-rooms 
of  her  house.  She  did  not  play  Bridge  as  the  others 
did,  but  sat  on  a  great  high-backed  chair  near  my 
sofa,  and  told  me  some  of  the  old  stories  of  the 
house,  and  asked  me  to  write  down  some  of  them  for 
her. 

"  I  sent  you  the  story  of  Hylda  more  than  a  week 
ago,"  I  said,  "  and  I  don't  suppose  you  ever  read  it." 

"  I  did  read  it,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden  gently,  "  and 
I  liked  it  very  much." 

She  had  put  on  an  unapproachable  mood  with  her 
beautiful  stiff  brocade  gown,  and  the  gentleness  of 
her  voice  seemed  to  heighten  rather  than  to  lessen 
her  royalty.  The  radiance  and  the  holiday  air,  which 

139 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

are  Mrs.  Fielden's  by  divine  right,  were  not  dimmed 
to-night,  so  much  as  transformed.  There  was  a 
subtle  aromatic  scent  of  dried  rose-leaves  clinging  to 
the  old  brocade  dress,  and  about  herself  a  sort  of 
fragrance  of  old-world  dignity  and  beauty.  The 
pearl  comb  in  her  hair  made  her  look  taller  than 
usual. 

A  deerhound  got  up  from  his  place  by  the  fire- 
place and  came  and  laid  his  head  on  her  lap,  and 
some  footmen  in  old-fashioned  bright  blue  liveries 
came  in  to  arrange  the  card-tables  and  hand  round 
coffee.  Everything  was  stately  and  magnificent  in 
the  house. 

"  And  you  pretend,"  I  said,  "  that  you  do  nothing ; 
yet  probably  the  whole  ordering  of  this  house  de- 
volves upon  you." 

"  I  am  quite  a  domestic  person  sometimes,"  said 
Mrs.  Fielden. 

"  It  is  rather  bewildering,"  I  said,  "  to  find  that 
you  are  everything  in  turn." 

And  the  next  morning  she  wore  a  short  blue  skirt 
with  a  silver  belt  round  her  waist,  and  spent  the 
morning  punting  on  the  lake  with  Anthony  Craw- 
shay. 

"  I  hope  I  look  after  you  all  properly,"  she  said 
at  lunch-time,  in  a  certain  charming  deprecating 

140 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

way  she  has  of  speaking  sometimes.  "  There  really 
are  punts,  and  horses,  and  motor  cars,  and  things, 
if  you  want  them.  Will  you  all  order  what  you 
like?  " 

Each  man  at  the  table  then  offered  to  take  Mrs. 
Fielden  for  a  ride,  or  a  drive,  or  a  row,  and  not  one 
of  them  could  be  quite  sure  that  she  had  refused  to 
go  with  him. 

"  I  want  to  go  for  a  turn  in  the  garden  and  talk 
about  books,"  she  said  to  me  as  we  left  the  dining- 
room.  And  then  I  found  that  I  was  sitting  in  her 
boudoir  with  her  having  coffee,  and  that  everyone 
else  was  excluded  from  the  room — how  it  was  done 
I  have  not  the  slightest  idea — and  that  by-and-by 
we  left  the  room  by  the  open  French  windows,  and 
were  strolling  in  the  garden  in  the  spring  sunshine. 
The  garden,  with  its  high  walls,  is  sheltered  from 
every  wind  that  blows,  and  there  are  wide  garden- 
seats  in  it  painted  white,  and  every  border  as  bright 
with  early  spring  flowers. 

"I  call  this  my  Grove  of  Academe,"  said  Mrs. 
Fielden. 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  think  it  has  a  nice  classical  sound ; 
and  it  is  here  I  come  with  my  friends  and  discuss 
metaphysics." 

141 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  have  a  great  many  friends," 
I  said. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden  thoughtfully, 
"  of  adding  another  to  their  number." 

"  I  have  a  constitutional  dislike  to  worshipping  in 
crowded  temples,"  I  said. 

Mrs.  Fielden  became  silent. 

It  would  be  forging  a  sword  against  themselves 
did  men  allow  women  to  know  what  a  powerful 
weapon  silence  is.  A  soft  answer  turneth  away 
wrath,  but  a  woman's  silence  makes  a  man's  heart 
cry  out:  "  My  dear,  my  dear,  did  I  hurt  you?  For- 
give me ! " 

At  the  end  of  five  minutes  or  so  of  silence,  Mrs. 
Fielden  turned  towards  me  and  smiled,  and  the 
garden  seemed  to  be  filled  with  her.  There  was  no 
room  for  anything  else  but  her,  and  that  bewildering, 
provoking  smile  she  gave  me. 

"  How  is  the  diary  getting  on  ?  "  she  said. 

"  The  diary,"  I  answered,  "  continues  to  record  our 
godly,  righteous,  and  sober  life " 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden  quickly,  "  don't  you 
think  it  is  possible  to  be  too  good  sometimes?  That  is 
really  what  I  wanted  to  say  to  you — I  brought  you 
into  the  garden  to  ask  you  that." 

"  It  is  an  interesting  suggestion,"  I  remarked, 
142 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

"  and  I  think  we  ought  to  give  it  to  Eliza  Jamieson 
for  one  of  her  discussions." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  discuss  it  with  Eliza  Jamieson," 
said  Mrs.  Fielden,  "  but  with  you.  You  know  there 
really  is  a  great  danger  about  becoming  too  good, 
for  although  I  do  not  think  that  you  would  grow 
wings,  or  hear  passing  bells,  or  anything  of  that  sort, 
still,  you  might  become  a  little  dull,  might  you 
not?  " 

"  I  don't  think  it  would  be  possible  to  become 
duller  than  I  am,"  I  replied.  "  You  have  more  than 
once  told  me  that  I  am  not  amusing,  and,  so  long  as 
my  sister  is  not  aware  of  the  fact,  I  do  not  in  the 
least  mind  admitting  that  I  find  every  day  most 
horribly  tedious.  I  suppose  I  shall  get  accustomed 
to  it  in  time,  but  I  don't  enjoy  being  an  invalid." 

"  You  have  helped  the  Jamiesons  to  make  flannel 
petticoats  for  the  poor,"  went  on  Mrs.  Fielden,  "  and 
you  have  had  the  Curate  to  tea,  and  you  have  been 
to  the  Taylors'  party,  and  if  it  does  not  kill  you,  I 
am  sure  you  will  become  like  people  in  those  books 
one  gives  as  prizes  to  choir-boys." 

"  One  so  often  mistakes  monotony  for  virtue,"  I 
said.  "  I  believe  I  was  beginning  to  think  that  there 
was  almost  a  merit  in  getting  accustomed  to  a  sofa 
and  a  crutch." 

143 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  Oh,  but  it  is  a  sin ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fielden. 
"  It  is  a  sin  to  get  accustomed  to  anything  that  is 
disagreeable.  But  that  is  what  comes  of  studying 
philosophy ! " 

"  I  suppose  reasoning  is  always  bad,"  I  said 
humbly. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden ;  "  and  it  is  so  unnatural, 
too." 

"  I  heard  a  man  say  the  other  day,"  I  said,  "  that 
solitude  is  always  sententious.  And  he  pointed  out 
that  foreigners,  who  are  never  alone,  base  their 
ethics  upon  conduct;  but  that  English  people,  who 
simply  do  not  understand  the  life  of  the  boulevards 
and  cafes  and  family  affection,  sit  apart  in  the  soli- 
tude of  their  garrets  or  studies,  and  decide  that  the 
right  or  the  wrong  of  a  thing  consists  in  what  they 
think  about  it." 

Then  I  recollected  that  this  garden  was  the  Grove 
of  Academe,  and  that  it  was  here  that  Mrs.  Fielden 
discussed  metaphysics  with  all  her  friends.     . 
"  What  cure  do  you  propose?  "  I  said  shortly. 

"  Why  not  go  to  London  for  a  little  while  and 
enjoy  yourselves?  "  said  Mrs.  Fielden.  "  Put  off  the 
conventionalities  of  Stowel,  as  the  Miss  Traceys  do, 
and  do  something  amusing  and  gay?  " 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  man  in  the  Bastille," 
144 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

I  said,  "  who  had  been  in  prison  so  long  that  when 
he  was  offered  his  freedom  he  elected  to  remain  where 
he  was?  " 

"  But  you  must  break  out  of  the  Bastille  long  be- 
fore it  comes  to  that,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden.  "  Couldn't 
you  do  something  exciting?  I  am  sure  nothing  else 
will  restore  your  moral  tone." 

"How  is  it  to  be  done?"  I  asked.  "We  must 
recognize  the  limitations  of  our  environment." 

"  You  are  going  to  be  philosophical,"  said  Mrs. 
Fielden ;  "  you  are  going  to  quote  Protagoras,  or 
Pythagoras,  or  Plato,  which  will  not  convince  me  in 
the  least.  Philosophy  tries  to  make  people  believe 
that  things  are  exactly  the  reverse  of  what  they  are. 
I  don't  think  that  alters  the  sum  total  of  things  very 
much.  Because,  by  the  time  that  you  have  proved 
that  all  agreeable  things  are  disagreeable,  and  all 
unpleasant  things  are  pleasant,  you  are  in  exactly 
the  same  position  as  you  were  before.  I  daresay  it 
fills  up  people's  time  to  turn  everything  upside  down 
and  stand  everything  on  its  head,  but  it  is  not 
amusing." 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Couldn't  you  enjoy  yourselves  a  little? "  said 
Mrs.  Fielden,  putting  on  her  wistful  voice. 

"  As  we  are  in  the  Grove  of  Academe,  let  me  point 
145 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

out  that  the  pursuit  of  pleasure  for  its  own  sake  was 
one  of  the  corrupt  forms  of  a  decadent  epicurian- 
ism,"  I  said  sternly. 

"  I  am  quite  sure  it  was,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  smil- 
ing ;  "  but  we  were  talking  about  your  visit  to 
London,  were  we  not?  " 

And  so  I  knew  that  the  thing  was  settled,  and  I 
thought  it  very  odd  that  Palestrina  and  I  had  not 
thought  of  the  plan  before. 

"  As  it  is  getting  cold,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  "  I  am 
going  to  be  a  peripatetic  philosopher,"  and  she  rose 
from  the  seat  where  we  were  sitting,  and  gave  me  her 
hand  to  help  me  up,  for  I  am  still  awkward  with  my 
crutch,  and  then  let  me  lean  on  her  arm  as  we  walked 
up  and  down  the  broad  gravel  pathway. 

"  Don't  you  think,"  she  began,  "  that  it  is  a  great 
waste  of  opportunity  not  to  be  wild  and  wicked  some- 
times, when  one  is  very  good?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  quite  follow  you." 

"  What  I  mean  is,  what  is  the  good  of  filling  up 
years  of  curates  and  Taylors  and  flannel  petticoats, 
unless  you  are  going  to  kick  them  all  over  some  day, 
and  have  a  good  time.  You  see,  if  you  and  Pales- 
trina were  not  so  good,  you  would  always  have  to  pre- 
tend to  be  tremendously  circumspect.  But  it  seems 
such  waste  of  goodness  not  to  be  bad  sometimes." 

146 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  Your  argument  being,"  I  said,  "  that  an  honest 
man  may  sometimes  steal  a  horse  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  I  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden 
delightedly. 

"  A  dangerous  doctrine,  and  one " 

"  Not  Plato,  please,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden. 

...  It  ended  in  our  taking  a  flat  in  London  for 
some  weeks.  It  was  a  small  dwelling,  with  an  over- 
dressed little  drawing-room,  and  a  red  dining-room, 
and  a  roomy  cupboard  for  a  smoking-room. 

"  Remember,  Palestrina,"  I  said  to  my  sister  when 
we  settled  down,  "  that  we  are  under  strict  orders  to 
live  a  very  rapid  and  go-ahead  life  while  we  are  in 
London.  Can  you  suggest  anything  very  rowd}r 
that  a  crippled  man  with  a  crutch  and  a  tendency 
to  chills  and  malaria  might  undertake  ?  " 

"  We  might  give  a  supper-party,"  said  Palestrina 
brilliantly,  "  and  have  long-stemmed  champagne- 
glasses,  and  perhaps  cook  something  in  a  chafing- 
dish.  I  was  reading  a  novel  the  other  day  in  which 
the  bad  characters  did  this.  I  made  a  note  of  it  at 
the  time,  meaning  to  ask  you  why  it  should  be  fast 
to  cook  things  in  a  chafing-dish  or  to  have  long- 
stemmed  champagne-glasses  ?  " 

When  the  evening  came  Mrs.  Fielden  dined  with 
us,  and  she  and  Palestrina  employed  themselves 

147 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

after  dinner  in  rehearsing  how  they  should  behave. 
My  sister  said,  in  her  low  gurgling  voice :  "  I  think  I 
shall  sit  on  the  sofa  with  my  arms  spread  out  on 
either  side  of  me,  and  I  shall  thump  them  sometimes, 
like  the  adventuress  in  a  play." 

"  Or  you  might  be  singing  at  the  piano,"  said  Mrs. 
Fielden,  "  and  then  when  the  door  opens  you  could 
toss  the  music  aside  and  sail  across  the  room,  and 
give  your  left  hand  to  whoever  comes  in  first,  and 
say,  *  What  a  bore !  You  have  come ! '  or  something 
rude  of  that  sort." 

Mrs.  Fielden's  spirit  of  fun  inspired  my  quiet  sis- 
ter to-night,  and  the  two  women  began  masquerading 
in  a  way  that  was  sufficiently  amusing  to  a  sick  man 
lying  on  a  sofa. 

"  Or  you  might  continue  playing  the  piano,"  Mrs. 
Fielden  went  on,  "  after  anyone  has  been  announced. 
I  notice  that  that  is  very  often  done,  especially  in 
books  written  by  the  hero  himself  in  the  first  person. 
6  She  did  not  leave  the  piano  as  I  entered,  but 
continued  playing  softly,  her  white  hands  gliding 
dreamily  over  the  keys.' " 

"  I  shall  do  my  best,"  Palestrina  answered,  "  and  I 
thought  of  calling  all  our  guests  by  their  Christian 
names,  if  only  I  could  recollect  what  they  are." 

"  Nicknames  would  be  better,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden. 
148 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

"  We  ought  to  have  found  out,  I  think,  something 
about  this  matter  before  the  party  began." 

"  What  shall  we  do  till  they  arrive?  "  said  Pales- 
trina. 

"  We  must  read  newspapers  and  periodicals," 
Mrs.  Fielden  replied,  "  and  then  fling  them  down  on 
the  carpet.  There  is  something  about  seeing  newspa- 
pers on  a  carpet  which  is  certainly  untidy,  but  has 
something  distinctly  Bacchanalian  about  it." 

"  I  wish  I  had  a  red  tea-gown,"  sighed  my  sister. 

"  Or  a  white  one  trimmed  with  some  costly  furs," 
said  Mrs.  Fielden.  "  Almost  any  tea-gown  would  do." 

"  One  thing  I  will  have !  "  she  exclaimed,  starting 
in  an  energetic  manner  to  her  feet.  "  I'll  turn  all  the 
lamps  low,  and  cover  them  with  pink  paper  shades. 
Where  is  the  crinkly  paper  and  some  ribbon?  " 

'After  that  we  sat  in  a  rose  twilight  so  dim  that  we 
couldn't  even  read  the  evening  newspaper. 

"  I  don't  think  they  need  have  come  quite  so 
early,"  I  said,  as  the  first  ring  was  heard  at  the  door- 
bell. 

Mrs.  Fielden  had  insisted  upon  it  that  one  actress 
at  least  should  be  asked.  "  What  is  a  supper-party 
without  an  actress  ? "  she  had  said.  And  Mrs. 
Travers,  at  present  acting  in  Mr.  Pinero's  new  play, 
was  the  first  to  arrive. 

149 


A   Lame   Dog's    Diary 

"  I  wonder  if  you  know  any  of  our  friends  who 
are  coming  to-night?  "  said  Palestrina.  "  We  expect 
Squash  Bosanquet  and  Charles  Fenwick."  Palestrina 
then  broke  down,  because  we  had  no  idea  if  these 
two  men  had  ever  answered  to  these  names  in  their 
lives.  Also  she  blushed,  which  spoilt  it  all,  and  Mrs. 
Fielden  began  to  smile. 

Mrs.  Travers  came  to  the  party  in  a  very  simple 
black  evening  gown,  and  Bosanquet  and  Charles 
Fenwick  came  almost  immediately  afterwards. 
Anthony  Crawshay  was  amongst  the  friends  whom 
we  had  invited,  because,  Palestrina  said,  as  we  did 
not  seem  to  know  many  fast  people,  we  had  better 
have  someone  who  was  sporting.  There  was  an 
artist  whom  we  considered  Bohemian,  because  he 
wore  his  hair  long,  but  he  disappointed  us  by  coming 
in  goloshes. 

Altogether  we  were  eight  at  supper.  There  was 
an  attractive  menu,  and  the  long-stemmed  cham- 
pagne-glasses were  felt  to  be  a  distinct  challenge  to 
quiet  behaviour. 

Palestrina  thought  that  if  she  was  going  to  be 
really  fast  she  had  better  talk  about  divorce,  and 
I  heard  her  ask  Anthony  in  a  diffident  whisper  if  he 
had  read  any  divorce  cases  lately.  Anthony  looked 
startled,  and  in  his  loud  voice  exclaimed :  "  Egad ! 

150 


A   Lame   Dog's    Diary 

I  hope  you  haven't !  "  Palestrina  coloured  with  con- 
fusion, and  I  frowned  heavily  at  her,  which  made  it 
worse. 

Mrs.  Travers  seemed  to  have  taken  it  into  her 
head  that  Palestrina  was  pious,  and  she  talked  a 
great  deal  about  factory  girls,  and  Bosanquet  talked 
about  methylated  ether.  What  it  was  that  provoked 
his  remarks  on  this  subject  I  cannot  now  recall,  nor 
why  he  discussed  it  without  intermission  almost 
throughout  the  entire  evening,  but  I  have  a  distinct 
recollection  of  hearing  him  dinning  out  the  phrase 
"  methylated  ether." 

It  was,  I  think,  the  dullest  party  that  even  Pales- 
trina and  I  have  ever  given,  and  I  blame  Mrs. 
Fielden  for  this.  Mrs.  Fielden  refused  to  be  the 
centre  of  the  room.  She  became  an  onlooker  at  the 
party  which  she  had  planned,  and  she  smiled  affec- 
tionately at  us  both,  and  watched,  I  think,  to  see 
how  the  party  would  go  off. 

The  long-stemmed  champagne-glasses  were  hardly 
used.  Several  people  said  to  me  jocosely,  "  How  is 
South  Africa  ?  "  and  to  this  I  could  think  of  no  more 
suitable  reply  than,  "  It's  all  right."  We  longed 
for  even  the  Pirate  Boy  to  make  a  little  disturbance. 
Palestrina  whispered  to  me  that  she  thought  I  might 
throw  a  piece  of  bread  at  someone,  or  do  something. 

151 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

But  the  action  she  suggested  seemed  to  me  to  be  in 
too  daring  contrast  to  the  general  tone  of  the  even- 
ing; and  really,  as  I  murmured  back  to  her,  there 
seemed  to  be  very  little  point  in  throwing  my  bread 
at  a  guest  who  had  done  me  no  harm. 

"  I  wish,"  she  said  to  me  when  we  returned  to  the 
drawing-room,  "  that  I  knew  some  daring  little 
French  songs.  In  books  the  girl  always  sings  daring 
little  French  songs,  and  afterwards  everyone  begins 
to  be  vulgar  and  delightful,  like  those  people  in  '  The 
Christian.'  I  think  I'll  light  a  cigarette."  She  did 
so,  and  choked  a  little,  and  then  wondered  if  Thomas 
would  like  her  to  smoke,  and  threw  the  cigarette 
into  the  fire.  The  Bohemian,  who  had  travelled 
considerably,  asked  for  a  map,  and  told  us  of  his  last 
year's  journeyings,  tracing  out  the  route  of  them  for 
us  on  the  map  with  a  pin. 

And  Mrs.  Fielden  was  smiling  all  the  time. 

"  I  suppose,"  I  said  to  my  sister,  when  the  last 
guest  had  departed,  and  we  sat  together  in  the  pink 
light  of  the  drawing-room  before  going  to  bed — "  I 
suppose  we  carry  about  with  us  an  atmosphere  of 
slowness  which  it  is  impossible  to  penetrate.  You 
are  engaged  to  Thomas,  and  I  am  an  invalid " 

"  But  in  books,"  said  Palestrina  wistfully,  "  men 
talk  about  all  sorts  of  things  to  girls  whether  they 

152 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

happen  to  be  engaged  or  not,  and  they  ask  them  to 
go  to  see  galleries  with  them  next  day,  or  squeeze 
their  hands.  Of  course,  I  should  hate  it  if  they  did 
this,  but,  still,  one  rather  expected  it.  To-night," 
she  said  regretfully,  "no  one  talked  to  me  of  any- 
thing but  Thomas." 

"  Charles  Fenwick,"  I  said,  "  who  used  to  be  con- 
sidered amusing,  has  become  simply  idiotic  since  he 
married.  He  gave  me  an  exact  account  of  his  little 
boy's  sayings ;  he  copied  the  way  he  asked  for  sugar, 
like  the  chirruping  of  a  bird.  You  won't  believe  me, 
I  know,  but  he  put  out  his  lips  and  chirped." 

"  I  remember  being  positively  warned  against 
him,"  said  Palestrina,  "  when  I  used  to  go  to  dances 
in  London."  She  sighed,  and  added :  "  Do  you 
think  Mrs.  Fielden  enjoyed  it?  " 

"  I  think  Mrs.  Fielden  was  distinctly  amused,"  I 
replied. 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Palestrina,  still  in  a  dis- 
appointed tone,  "  that  the  men  would  have  been  more 
— more  larky  if  we  had  been  alone?  Mrs.  Fielden 
always  looks  so  beautiful  and  dresses  so  well  that 
I  think  she  impresses  people  too  much,  and  they  are 
all  trying  to  talk  to  her  instead  of  making  a  row." 

"  I  think  we  may  as  well  go  to  bed,"  I  said. 

Palestrina  rose  slowly,  and  went  towards  the  bell 
153 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

to  ring  for  my  man  to  help  me.  She  lingered  for  a 
moment  by  my  chair.  '  Yet  books  say  that  men 
require  so  much  keeping  in  order,"  she  said  sadly. 
"  I  wish  people  would  not  write  about  what  does  not 
occur." 


154 


Chapter  X 

THE  Jamiesons  have  taken  lodgings  in  West 
Kensington,  which  they  describe  as  being  "  most 
central " — a  phrase  which  I  have  begun  to  think 
means  inexpensive,  and  near  a  line  of  omnibuses. 
George  and  the  Pirate  are  assiduous  in  taking  their 
sisters  to  the  Play,  and  other  places  of  amusement, 
and  are  showing  them  something  of  London  with  a 
zeal  which  speaks  much  for  their  goodness  of  heart. 
Even  Mrs.  Jamieson  has  been  out  once  or  twice, 
and  although  doubly  tearful  on  the  morning  follow- 
ing any  little  bit  of  dissipation,  her  family  feel  that 
the  variety  has  been  good  for  her.  Eliza  has  found 
that  London  is  radio-active,  hence  enjoyable.  And 
Eliza  had  only  been  once  to  the  Royal  Institution 
when  she  said  it !  Maud's  engagement  to  the  Hamp- 
stead  young  man  has  been  finally  broken  off,  and 
Maud  has  cried  so  much  that  her  Family  have  for- 
given her.  Maud  explains  that  it  is  such  an  upset 
for  a  girl  to  break  off  an  engagement,  and  The 
Family  say  soothingly  that  she  must  just  try  and  get 
over  it. 

155 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

"  We  hope,"  said  Kate,  "  that  the  next  time  things 
will  arrange  themselves  more  happily,  and  at  least 
we  can  all  feel  that  Maud  might  have  married  many 
times,  had  she  wished  to  do  so."  There  would  seem 
to  be  a  strong  feeling  in  The  Family  that  Maud  will 
go  on  having  opportunities.  Arguing  from  the  Gen- 
eral to  the  Particular,  they  have  proved,  with  a  sort 
of  tribal  feeling  of  satisfaction,  that  Maud  is  un- 
doubtedly very  attractive  to  men,  and  that  if  one 
man  likes  her,  why  should  not  another? 

Still,  we  all  felt  that  we  could  not  have  sym- 
pathized immediately  with  another  love  affair  of 
Maud's,  and  it  was  refreshing,  not  to  say  most 
pleasing  and  surprising,  to  find  that  since  her 
arrival  in  Town,  it  is  Margaret  who  has  attracted 
the  notice  of  a  gentleman,  Mr.  Swinnerton  by 
name,  a  friend  of  George's,  who  brought  him  to 
supper  one  Sunday  evening.  The  Jamiesons  could 
see  at  a  glance  that  Mr.  Swinnerton  was  "  struck," 
and  as  he  called  two  or  three  times  in  the 
following  week,  Margaret  made  the  usual  Jamieson 
opportunity  of  seeing  Palestrina  home,  one  afternoon 
when  she  had  been  to  call,  to  embark  in  confidences 
about  her  lover,  in  the  usual  Jamieson  style. 
Margaret  is  diffident,  bashful,  shy,  uncertain  about 
Mr.  Swinnerton's  feelings  for  her,  and  hopelessly 

156 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

nervous  lest  her  family  should  have  had  their 
expectations  raised  only  to  be  disappointed,  and  she 
implored  Palestrina  over  and  over  again  to  say 
nothing  about  it  to  them,  though  it  has  been  more 
than  obvious  to  us  all  along  how  full  of  expectation 
every  member  of  The  Family  is.  It  was  a  very  wet 
evening  as  Margaret  and  my  sister  left  the  Jamie- 
sons'  lodgings,  but  she  hardly  seemed  conscious  of 
the  inclemency  of  the  weather,  and  begged  Palestrina 
not  to  think  of  taking  a  cab,  as  she  particularly 
wished  to  speak  to  her. 

"  At  first,"  she  began,  "  I  thought  it  must  be 
Maud,  for  although  she  had  but  just  broken  off  her 
engagement  to  Mr.  Evans,  still,  one  knows  she  is  the 
pretty  one,  and  if  anyone  calls  often,  it  is  generally 
her." 

It  was  a  little  difficult  to  follow  Margaret's  rapid 
ungrammatical  speech,  but  Palestrina  and  I  both 
knew  that  to  the  vigorous  minds  of  the  Jamiesons 
there  must  be  a  direct  purpose  of  every  action,  and 
that  therefore  if  Mr.  Swinnerton  came  to  call,  he 
must  have  a  purpose,  presumably  a  matrimonial  pur- 
pose, for  paying  his  visits.  After  two  or  three  after- 
noon calls  from  a  gentleman,  the  Jamiesons  generally 
ask  each  other  ingenuously,  "Which  of  us  is  it?" 
It  hardly  seems  to  them  respectable  that  a  man  should 

157 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

continue  to  pay  them  visits  unless  he  means  to  show 
a  preference  for  one  of  them. 

Presuming  that  it  was  not  Maud  he  came  to  see, 
Margaret,  with  modest  hesitation  and  many  blushes, 
asked  Palestrina  if  she  did  not  think  it  possible  that 
these  visits  might  be  intended  for  her. 

"  Please  do  not  say  anything  about  it  to  the  others. 
I  have  so  hoped  always  that  if  ever  I  had  a  love 
affair  it  would  be  when  I  was  away  from  home. 
Do  you  know  at  all  what  .they  think  about  it?  " 

She  did  not  pause  for  a  reply,  but  began  again: 
"  You  see  he  has  called  three  times  in  one  week,  but 
[hopelessly]  I  am  always  surrounded  by  The  Family, 
and  he  couldn't  say  anything  if  he  wanted  to.  Of 
course  I  don't  think  it  has  come  to  anything  of  that 
sort  yet;  still,  you  know  we  could  get  to  know  each 
other  better  if  there  were  not  so  many  of  us  always 
about.  Maud  doesn't  mind  a  bit;  she  has  had  love 
affairs  in  front  of  us  all,  and  she  does  not  mind 
talking  about  them  in  the  least,  or  even  asking  us 
to  let  her  have  the  drawing-room  to  herself  on  cer- 
tain afternoons.  But  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  could  bear 
to  have  this  discussed  before  anything  is  settled. 
And  then  we  have  so  few  opportunities.  Maud  gen- 
erally takes  them  to  a  distant  church,  and  then  they 
have  the  walk  home  together.  But  I  never  quite 

158 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

know  whether  she  makes  the  suggestion  about  church, 
or  if  she  merely  thinks  it  would  be  nice,  and  leaves 
the  man  to  make  it." 

"  Maud,"  I  remarked  parenthetically  to  Palestrina, 
"  has  raised  love-making  to  a  science — an  exact 
science." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  think  for  a  moment,"  Margaret 
had  gone  on,  "  that  I  am  abusing  Maud ;  you  know 
how  fond  we  all  are  of  each  other." 

Maud's  experiences  on  matters  matrimonial  are 
always  quoted  as  precedent  in  the  Jamieson  family, 
and  she  is  cited  whenever  anything  of  the  sort  is 
a-foot.  Each  phase  in  her  experience  is  frankly  dis- 
cussed, and  conclusions  are  drawn  from  it;  and  I 
have  heard  the  Jamiesons  say  "  Mr.  So-and-so  must 
be  in  love  with  Miss  So-and-so;  he  looks  at  her  in 
exactly  the  same  way  that  Mr.  Reddy  used  to  look 
at  Maud."  Maud  herself,  unconsciously,  as  I  believe, 
makes  a  sort  of  calendar  of  her  love  affairs,  and  it  is 
quite  usual  for  her  to  date  an  event  by  referring  to  it 
as  having  happened  "  in  the  Albert  Gore  days,"  or 
"  when  Mr.  Evans  was  hovering." 

Margaret's  voice  did  not  cease  from  the  moment 
they  left  the  lodgings  together.  "  It  is,  however,  no 
use  trying  to  copy  other  people  in  your  love  affairs," 
she  said,  "  because  it  seems  to  come  to  everyone  so 

159 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

differently,  and  then,  of  course,  different  people  must 
call  forth  different  feelings.  I  don't  think  I  could 
have  felt  for  Mr.  Reddy,  for  instance,  quite  as  I  do 
now,  even  if  he  had  been  in  love  with  me.  You  feel 
so  bewildered  somehow." 

The  walk  had  by  this  time  become  very  rapid,  and 
Margaret  knocked  against  all  the  foot-passengers 
whom  she  met  travelling  in  the  opposite  direction, 
in  her  short-sighted  way.  Her  umbrella  showered 
raindrops  upon  Palestrina,  and  she  became  so  in- 
coherent  that  my  sister  suggested  taking  a  cab  to 
our  flat,  and  talking  things  over  quietly  when  they 
should  get  there. 

It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  that  night  when  Mar- 
garet Jamieson  took  leave  of  us,  and  by  that  time  I 
fancy  the  bridesmaids'  dresses  had  been  arranged. 

A  few  days  later  Palestrina  received  a  note  by  the 
hand  of  a  messenger  boy ;  it  bore  the  word  "  imme- 
diate "  on  the  cover,  and  had  evidently  been  addressed 
in  some  haste. 

"  DEAR  PALESTRINA  (it  ran), 

"  Can  you  possibly  come  to  make  a  fourth  at 
a  concert  this  afternoon?  Do  come,  even  if  it  should 
be  rather  inconvenient  to  you.  I  want  you  so  much. 
Mr.  Swinnerton  has  asked  mamma  and  me,  and  he 

160 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

has  taken  tickets.  They  are  not  reserved  places,  so 
we  could  easily  arrange  to  meet  at  the  door  and  sit 
together.  Three  is  such  an  awkward  number.  I  fear 
mamma  does  not  care  for  him,  and  that  is  a  great 
grief  to  me.  I  will  tell  you  everything  this  after- 
noon. 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"  MARGARET  JAMIESON. 

"  P.S. — It  is  all  going  to  come  right,  I  believe,  but 
I  have  had  immense  difficulties.  Hardly  ten  minutes 
alone  with  him — you  know  we  have  only  one  sitting- 
room — but  the  family  have  been  sweet." 

"  Hugo,"  said  Palestrina,  "  this  is  an  occasion 
when  you  could  give  very  substantial  aid  to  a  deserv- 
ing family." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  am  engaged  this  afternoon,"  I  said 
with  an  instinct  of  self-preservation,  without,  how- 
ever, any  definite  idea  of  what  Palestrina  might  say 
next. 

"  It  is  I  who  am  engaged  this  afternoon,"  said  my 
sister,  smiling,  "  and  you  are  perfectly  aware  of  that 
fact.  Thomas  is  taking  me  down  to  Richmond  to 
introduce  me  to  his  aunt.  Besides,  Hugo,  you  know 
you  like  music." 

161 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Palestrina,"  I  said,  "  but  it  is 
quite  impossible." 

"  Margaret  is  the  Jamieson  you  like  best,"  said 
Palestrina,  "  and  I  hate  to  think  of  your  being  here 
alone  a  whole  afternoon.  What  were  you  thinking 
of  doing?  " 

I  had  been  thinking  of  going  to  this  concert,  and 
Palestrina  guessed  it,  of  course.  .  .  . 

I  was  at  the  door  of  the  concert  hall  at  two-thirty 
in  the  afternoon,  and  found  Mrs.  Jamieson  and  Mar- 
garet and  the  young  man  already  on  the  pavement, 
looking  as  if  they  had  stood  there  for  a  considerable 
time.  Mr.  Swinnerton  is  a  large,  rather  stupid- 
looking  man,  with  a  red  face,  a  crooked  nose,  and 
curly  hair.  He  wore  a  dark  blue  overcoat,  so  thick 
and  strong  that  it  reminded  one  of  some  encasement 
of  plaster  of  Paris,  or  of  some  heavy  coat  of  mail. 
His  hands  were  covered  by  yellow  dogskin  gloves, 
equally  unyielding,  so  that  Mr.  Swinnerton  appeared 
deprived  of  any  agility  or  movement  by  his  garments. 
Mr.  Swinnerton  is  in  the  volunteers,  and  has  "  Cap- 
tain Swinnerton "  printed  on  his  cards.  He  gave 
me  the  idea  of  seeming  to  think  that  every  action  of 
his  was  some  epoch-making  event,  and  he  frequently 
referred  during  the  afternoon  to  having  seen  a  pic- 
ture then  on  view  at  one  of  the  galleries,  as  though 

162 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

this  were  rather  an  up-to-date,  not  to  say  remarkable, 
proceeding.  Margaret  seemed  a  good  deal  impressed 
by  his  manner,  and  the  Jamiesons  had  decided  that 
he  was  "  smart,"  which  was  a  further  and  quite  un- 
necessary addition  to  Mr.  Swinnerton's  vanity,  and 
very  bad  for  a  gentleman  of  his  complacent  char- 
acter. 

He  ushered  us  into  the  Queen's  Hall  in  an  im- 
portant sort  of  way,  which  gave  one  the  impression 
that  the  place  belonged  to  him ;  and  the  fact  that  I 
was  making  a  third  in  a  party  under  his  guidance 
convinced  me  that  I  was  in  some  sort  adding  to  his 
self-satisfaction.  Mr.  Swinnerton  had  chosen  shill- 
ing places,  because,  as  he  informed  us  a  great  number 
of  times,  these  were  in  the  best  position  for  hearing 
the  music.  Mrs.  Jamieson  was  disappointed.  In 
her  class  of  life  a  treat  is  given  on  a  more  magnificent 
scale. 

"Shall  I  sit  next  you,  Mrs.  Jamieson?"  I  said, 
for  I  believed  that  this  was  what  I  was  intended  to 
say;  but  Mr.  Swinnerton  remarked  to  Margaret, 
"  I'll  go  next ;  I  like  to  divide  myself  amongst  the 
ladies." 

Mrs.  Jamieson  looked  uncomfortable  in  the  small 
amount  of  space  a  shilling  had  procured  for  her,  and 
she  suggested  apologetically  that  she  would  like  a 

163 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

programme;  but  the  music  was  beginning,  and  Mr. 
Swinnerton  put  up  his  large,  stiff -gloved  hand  like  a 
slab,  and  said  "  Hush." 

We  went  faithfully  through  the  orthodox  Queen's 
Hall  concert  from  the  very  first  note  to  the  "  Ride  of 
the  Valykrs,"  and  after  every  item  on  the  pro- 
gramme our  host  turned  to  us,  moving  his  whole  body 
in  his  stout  coat,  and  said,  "  Isn't  that  nice 
now — very  nice  I  call  it ! "  still  with  an  air  of  owner- 
ship^ 

Mrs.  Jamieson  slept  a  little;  but  the  hardness  of 
her  seat  formed  an  uneasy  resting-place,  and  it  is  to 
be  feared  that  her  mantle  with  the  storm  collar  was 
too  hot ;  but,  she  whispered  to  me,  in  a  burst  of  con- 
fidence, she  was  unable  to  remove  it,  owing  to  the 
fact  that  the  bodice  and  skirt  of  her  dress  did  not 
correspond. 

"  I  always  like  these  places,"  said  Mr.  Swinnerton 
again,  "  they  are  exactly  in  the  centre  of  the  hall, 
and  another  thing  is  they  are  near  the  door  in  case 
of  fire." 

Margaret  assented  sweetly.  I  always  thought  until 
to-day  that  Margaret  Jamieson  was  a  plain  woman; 
to-day  I  find  she  is  good-looking. 

"  It  is  ridiculous,"  said  Mr.  Swinnerton,  "  to  see 
the  way  people  throw  their  money  away  on  really 

164 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

inferior  seats  just  because  they  think  they  are  fash- 
ionable." 

Mrs.  Jamieson  stirred  a  little  on  her  uneasy  bench, 
and  Mr.  Swinnerton  said,  in  self-defence,  "  Don't  you 
agree  with  me,  eh?  " 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Jamieson  politely,  "  that 
perhaps  for  a  long  concert  the  fotoys  would  be  more 
comfortable." 

"  Ah ! "  cried  Mr.  Swinnerton,  "  you  want  to  be 
fashionable,  I  see;  but  there  are  many  of  the  best 
people  who  come  to  these  seats.  I  know  of  a  Mem- 
ber of  Parliament — I  don't  know  him,  I  know  of  him 
[we  felt  that  some  connection  with  the  Member  had 
now  been  established] — who  comes  regularly  to  these 
very  places,  and  who  declares  they  are  the  best  in  the 
house." 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Jamieson  simply,  "  he  had 
never  tried  the  fotoys." 

After  the  concert  was  over  Mr.  Swinnerton  sug- 
gested that  Margaret  and  her  mother  should  go  and 
have  tea  at  a  bun-shop,  qualifying  the  suggestion 
with  the  remark,  "  I  know  you  ladies  can  never  get 
on  without  afternoon  tea."  When  with  Mr.  Swin- 
nerton ladies  are  never  allowed  to  forget  that  he  is  a 
gentleman  and  they  are  ladies,  and  that  a  certain 
forbearance  is  therefore  extended  to  them.  He  of- 

165 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

fered  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Jamieson,  who  gathered  up  her 
skirt  and  umbrella  in  one  hand,  and  accepted  the 
preferred  support  in  some  embarrassment.  Mar- 
garet fell  behind  with  me,  and  whispered  in  a  sort  of 
excited  way: 

"  Hasn't  it  been  lovely?  Do  tell  me  what  you  think, 
I  mean  about  him  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  had  much  chance  of  judging,"  I  re- 
plied stupidly;  "but  he  seems  all  right,  although 
perhaps  his  ideas  are  not  very  large." 

"  Still,  you  mean  that  one  could  always  alter 
that,"  said  Margaret  quickly,  with  the  true  Jamieson 
optimism,  as  applied  to  the  beneficial  results  of 
matrimony.  There  is  hardly,  I  believe,  a  defect  that 
they  think  they  will  not  be  able  to  eradicate  in  a 
future  husband,  save,  perhaps,  the  conical  shape  of 
Mr.  Ward's  head.  "  But  I  really  do  not  think  that 
there  is  anything  that  I  would  like  altered." 

"  His  name  is  Tudor,"  she  went  on ;  "  George  calls 
him  that  now,  and  Maud  is  beginning  to  do  so — 
Maud  is  being  so  kind,  she  says  it  promotes  a  fami- 
liar tone  which  is  very  helpful  to  call  him  '  Tudor,' 
but  I  can't  call  him  anything  but  Mr.  Swinnerton 

yet." 

After  tea  Mr.  Swinnerton  asked  us  how  we  had 
enjoyed  our  entertainment,  and  Margaret  expressed 

166 


'A.  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

herself  in  the  highest  terms  in  praise  of  it.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  lingering  tendency  on  Mrs.  Jamieson's 
part,  to  revert  to  the  superior  comfort  of  seven-and 
sixpenny  places,  and  armchairs,  but  we  checked  this 
by  saying  with  emphasis  that  it  was  a  friendly 
afternoon  of  this  kind  that  we  really  enjoyed.  Mr. 
Swinnerton  then  put  the  Jamiesons  into  an  omnibus, 
and  directed  the  conductor  to  "  let  these  ladies  out 
at  the  top  of  Sloane  Street,"  in  a  tone  of  voice  that 
suggested  that  they  were  to  be  caged  and  padlocked 
until  that  place  of  exit  was  reached.  He  lifted  his 
hat  with  a  fine  air  to  them,  and  then,  as  I  had  called 
a  hansom,  he  put  me  into  it  rather  elaborately,  and 
cautioned  the  commissionaire  at  the  door  to  "  take 
care  of  this  gentleman." 

This  man  will  call  me  a  South  African  hero  next ; 
I  wish  he  would  keep  his  attentions  to  himself. 


167 


LAST  night  we  (dined  at  the  Darcey-Jacobs'.  Mrs. 
Darcey-Jacobs  is  "  enjoying  one  breath  of  life  "  at  a 
hotel  with  the  Major,  and  she  has  left  quite  a  pathetic 
number  of  visiting-cards  on  all  her  friends,  so  that 
her  short  London  season  may  be  as  full  of  gaiety  as 
possible.  Neither  of  us  looked  forward  to  the  din- 
ner-party being  particularly  lively,  but  we  were  a 
good  deal  amused  at  the  turn  the  conversation  took 
during  dinner.  I  have  often  thought  since  that  a 
certain  dumbness  which  falls  upon  some  entertain- 
ments can  be  dispersed  if  the  subject  of  matrimony 
is  started,  and  I  will  class  with  it  the  discussion  of 
food,  and  of  personal  experience  at  the  hand  of  the 
dentist.  Any  of  these  three  subjects  can  be  thrown, 
as  it  were,  into  the  stagnant,  deep  waters  of  a  voice- 
less party,  and  the  surface  will  be  instantly  rippled 
with  eager  conversation. 

Talk  flagged  a  little  in  the  private  sitting-room  of 
the  hotel  where  the  Darcey-Jacobs  gave  their  din- 
ner-party. Major  Jacobs,  in  his  guileless  way,  gave 
us  an  exhaustive  list  of  the  friends  whom  they  had 
invited  for  that  evening,  but  who  had  not  been  able 

168 


A  Lame    Dog's    Diary 

to  come,  and  this  had  a  curiously  depressing  effect 
upon  us  all,  and  within  ourselves  we  speculated  un- 
happily as  to  whether  we  had  been  asked  to  fill  up 
vacant  places. 

"  Why  are  men  always  allowed  to  blunder?  "  said 
Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs,  looking  over  her  high  nose  at 
the  gentleman  next  her,  and  tapping  him  on  the  arm 
with  her  lorgnettes. 

Major  Jacobs,  from  his  end  of  the  table,  looked 
penitent,  but  mystified. 

"  Happy  is  the  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs, 
"  who  has  no  men  about  her." 

"  I  should  like  to  have  been  born  a  widow,"  said  a 
pretty  girl  with  beseeching  blue  eyes  and  a  soft,  con- 
fiding expression,  who  sat  a  little  lower  down  on  my 
side  of  the  table.  And  then  the  subject  of  matrimony 
was  in  full  swing. 

"  Marriage  is  just  an  experience,"  said  a  shrill- 
voiced  American  widow,  who  sat  opposite.  "  Every- 
one should  try  it,  but  that  is  no  reason  why  one 
should  not  be  thankful  when  it  is  over." 

"  I  am  much  interested  in  what  you  say,"  said 
Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs,  with  a  certain  profound  air 
suitable  to  so  great  a  subject.  One  felt  the  want  of 
the  Jamiesons  sadly  during  the  ensuing  discussion, 
and  I  almost  found  myself,  in  the  words  of 

169 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

making  the  suggestion  that  marriage  was  a  great 
risk. 

"  I  have  always  felt,"  a  pale  little  man  on  the  other 
side  of  the  table  piped  forth,  "  that  I  should  not  mind 
much  whom  I  married,  so  long  as  my  wife  was  a  good- 
looking  woman,  and  could  keep  me  comfortably." 

"  Someone  once  said,"  ventured  Major  Darcey- 
Jacobs,  "  that  choosing  a  wife  was  like  choosing  a 
profession — it  did  not  matter  much  what  your  choice 
was  so  long  as  you  stuck  to  it;  it  was  a  mere  figure 
of  speech,  no  doubt " 

"  I  hope  so,  indeed,"  said  Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs. 

"  Marriage  is  the  worst  form  of  gambling,"  broke 
in  an  elderly  gentleman ;  "  it  should  be  suppressed  by 
law!  Talk  about  lotteries!  Talk  about  sweepstakes. 
Why,  the  worst  you  can  do,  if  you  put  your  money 
into  them,  is  to  draw  a  blank.  Now,  this  is  fair 
play,  I  consider;  you  either  get  a  prize  or  you  get 
nothing.  But  matrimony,  sir,  is  a  swindle,  compared 
with  which  the  Missing  Word  competition  appears 
like  a  legal  document  beside  a  forged  banknote." 

If  the  old  gentleman  had  a  wife  present  she  was 
evidently  of  a  callous  disposition,  for  I  saw  no  wrath- 
ful expression  on  any  face. 

Mr.  Ellicomb — even  in  London  Ellicomb  and 
[Anthony  Crawshay  are  asked  to  meet  us — gave  it  as 

170 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

his  opinion  that  a  woman's  hand  was  wanted  in  the 
home.  The  voice  was  the  voice  of  Ellicomb,  the 
sentiment  was  the  sentiment  of  Maud,  and  Palestrina 
and  I  very  nearly  exchanged  glances. 

After  this  several  people  began  to  describe  at  one 
and  the  same  time,  in  quite  a  breathless  way,  their 
own  personal  experiences  of  the  happiness  of  wedded 
life. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Major  Darcey- Jacobs,  "  a  good 
deal  of  forbearance  must  be  exercised  if  married  life 
is  to  be  a  success."  And  Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs  said 
quickly :  "  I  hope  you  do  not  intend  to  become  per- 
sonal, William."  To  which  William  replied  that  no 
such  intention  had  been  his. 

Anthony  said  in  his  cheery  voice :  "  Of  course  it  is 
give  and  take,  don't  you  know,  and  then  it  is  all 
right." 

Everyone  volunteered  ideas  on  the  subject — not 
once,  but  several  times.  And  those  who  applauded 
the  happy  state  shouted  each  other  down  by  quoting 
examples  of  wedded  bliss  in  such  words  as :  "  Look 
at  Hawkins ! "  "  Look  at  Jones ! "  "  Look  at  the 
Menteiths ! " 

Quite  suddenly  Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs  leaned  across 
the  table,  smiled  at  her  husband,  and  remarked: 
"Look  at  us,  William!" 

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A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

I  do  not  think  I  have  ever  seen  anyone  look  so 
astonished  as  Major  Jacobs.  "  That  was  very  pretty 
of  Maria,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice ;  "  very  pretty  of 
her,  by  Gad ! "  And  we  caught  him  looking  at  his 
wife  several  times  that  evening  as  though  she  were 
someone  he  had  never  seen  before,  or  almost  with  that 
look  which  is  seen  on  a  man's  face  sometimes  when 
we  say,  "  He  has  fallen  in  love." 

After  dinner  we  played  Bridge.  "  I  disapprove  of 
the  game  myself,"  said  Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs,  who 
certainly  was  the  worst  player  I  have  ever  met,  "  but 
Mrs.  Fielden  likes  it,  and  she  has  promised  to  come 
in  the  evening." 

Mrs.  Fielden  arrived  with  Colonel  Jardine,  and 
they  played  as  partners  together,  with  me  and  the 
American  widow  as  opponents.  Colonel  Jardine 
wore  some  kind  of  lead  ring  on  his  finger,  which  he 
said  cured  gout,  and  gathered  up  his  tricks  in  a  stiff 
sort  of  way.  He  had  a  pet  name  for  almost  every 
card  in  the  pack,  and  he  babbled  on  without  once 
ceasing  throughout  the  rubber.  "  Now  we'll  see 
where  old  mossy  face  is.  I  think  that  draws  the 
Curse  of  Scotland.  Kinky  Bow-wow  takes  that," 
and  so  on.  It  was  perfectly  maddening,  but  Mrs. 
Fielden  seemed  quite  pleased.  I  don't  suppose  she 
ever  feels  irritated.  The  American  widow,  who  was 

172 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

my  partner,  was  only  just  learning  the  game.  When 
I  said  to  her,  "  May  I  play  ?  "  she  always  replied,  if 
she  had  a  bad  hand,  "  No,  certainly  not."  And  when 
it  was  pointed  out  to  her  that  she  had  either  to  say, 
"  If  you  please,"  or  "  I  double,"  she  replied,  "  Don't 
ask  me  if  you  may  play,  if  you  mean  to  do  it  whether 
I  like  it  or  not."  She  always  gave  us  such  items  of 
information  as  "  I  know  what  I  should  say  if  it  was 
left  to  me  this  time,"  and  she  frequently  doubled  with 
nothing  at  all  in  her  hand,  because  she  said  she  liked 
to  play  a  plucky  game. 

I  have  tried  to  cure  Mrs.  Fielden  of  saying  *'  dah- 
monds  "  when  she  means  diamonds,"  but  it  is  quite 
useless.  She  also  says  (with  a  radiant  smile)  "  How 
tarsome ! "  when  she  has  lost  a  rubber,  although  I 
have  pointed  out  to  her  that  that  is  not  the  phonetic 
pronunciation  of  the  word.  When  we  are  all  wrang- 
ling over  the  mistakes  and  misdeeds  of  the  last  round, 
Mrs.  Fielden  looks  hopelessly  at  us  and  says,  "  Is 
it  anyone's  deal?  "  And  then  we  laugh  and  stop 
quarrelling.  She  never  keeps  the  score,  or  picks 
up  the  cards,  or  deals  for  herself,  or  does  anything 
useful. 

The  American  widow  did  not  stop  talking  most 
of  the  time,  and  the  Colonel  kept  up  his  running 
commentary  upon  the  cards  he  was  playing,  and 

173 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

then  Mrs.  Darcey- Jacobs  joined  us  to  look  on,  and 
she  and  the  American  widow  plunged  into  a  dis- 
cussion on  clothes,  which  they  kept  up  vigorously  all 
the  time.  This  necessitated  a  number  of  questions 
relating  to  the  game  from  the  American  widow, 
whenever  she  was  recalled  to  the  fact  that  she  was 
playing  Bridge:  "  May  I  see  that  laast  trick?  What's 
trumps?  Does  my  hand  go  down  on  the  table  this 
time?  "  Mrs.  Fielden  beamed  kindly  upon  her,  even 
when  the  widow  had  debated  five  minutes  which  card 
to  lead,  and  Colonel  Jardine  had  begun  to  play  the 
chromatic  scale  of  impatience  up  and  down  the  table 
with  his  stiff  fingers. 

"  Waal,"  said  the  American  widow  to  Mrs.  Filden, 
"  I  think  you  are  just  lovely,  and  I  would  like  to  play 
with  you  always.  I  believe  most  people  would  like 
to  kill  me  at  Bridge.  Caan't  think  why.  Colonel 
Jardine,  did  you  play  the  lost  chord?  " 

"  I  know  the  tune,"  said  the  Colonel ;  "  but  I  don't 
play  at  all." 

The  American  turned  bewildered  eyes  upon  Mrs. 
Fielden,  who  said,  smiling :  "  Colonel  Jardine  is  prac- 
tising the  chromatic  scale.  I  think  he  will  be  a  very 
good  player  some  day." 

"  How  was  I  to  know,"  said  the  Colonel,  splutter- 
ing over  his  whisky-and-soda  when  the  American 

174 


1A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

widow  had  left,  "that  she  meant  the  last  card?" 
That  woman  would  drive  me  crazy  in  six  weeks." 

"  I  liked  her,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  "  and  she  is  very 
pretty." 

There  is  a  certain  large-heartedness  about  this 
pretty  woman  of  fashion  and  of  the  world  which 
constrains  her  to  say  something  kind  about  everyone. 
With  hex*  the  absent  are  always  right,  and  I  do  not 
think  I  have  ever  heard  her  say  an  unkind  word  about 
anyone. 

At  Stanby,  when  people  who  are  staying 
there  make  a  newly-departed  guest  run  the  gauntlet 
of  criticism — not  always  of  the  kindest  sort — Mrs. 
Fielden  says,  in  that  loyal  fashion  of  hers  which 
makes  her  approval  the  final  decision  in  all  matters, 
"  I  liked  him."  And  the  departed  guest's  character 
and  reputation  are  safe.  Her  charity  is  boundless 
and  quite  indiscriminate,  save  that  she  sends  a  trifle 
more  rain  and  sunshine  on  the  unjust  than  on  the 
just. 

"  Come  to  lunch  with  me  some  day,"  she  said  to 
me  in  the  off-hand  way  in  which  she  generally  gives 
an  invitation.  "  I  am  always  at  home  at  two  o'clock. 
Why  not  come  to-morrow?  You  are  leaving  town 
almost  immediately,  are  you  not?  " 

Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs  is  also  asked  to  lunch ;  every- 
175 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

one  is  asked  to  lunch.  When  one  goes  to  the  pretty 
widow's  house  in  South  Street  one  generally  finds  a 
dozen  people  lunching  with  her. 

She  came  into  the  room — late,  of  course — 
and  found  ten  or  twelve  people  waiting  for  lunch. 
"I  am  so  sorry!  Do  you  all  know  each  other?" 
she  asked  of  the  rather  constrained  group  of 
strangers  making  frigid  conversation  to  each  other 
in  the  flower-filled  drawing-room.  And  then  she  be- 
gan to  introduce  us  to  each  other,  and  forgot  half 
our  names,  and  we  verc  downstairs  in  a  buzz  of 
conversation  and  laughter,  and  filled  with  something 
that  is  odd  and  magnetic,  which  only  comes  when 
Mrs.  Fielden  arrives, 

As  is  always  the  way  with  her  lunch-parties,  her 
carriage  drives  up  to  the  door  before  anyone  has 
finished  coffee,  and  then  we  all  say  good-bye,  com- 
plaining of  the  rush  of  London. 

"  I  want  you  to  drive  with  me  this  afternoon,"  said 
Mrs.  Fielden,  when  I  with  the  others  was  saying 
good-bye.  I  think  she  generally  singles  somebody 
out  for  a  drive  or  a  long  talk,  or  to  take  her  to  a 
picture-gallery  after  lunch,  and  it  is  done  in  a  way 
that  makes  the  one  thus  singled  out  feel  foolishly 
elated  and  flattered. 

"  I  think  we  are  going  to  drive  down  to  Richmond 
176 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

and  see  some  trees  and  grass,  and  behave  in  a  rural 
sort  of  way  this  afternoon,"  she  announced,  as  she 
seated  herself  in  the  carriage. 

"  And  what  about  all  your  engagements  for  this 
afternoon  ?  "  I  asked.  "  And  the  red  book,  and  the 
visiting  list,  and  the  shopping  list,  and  the  visiting 
cards,  which  I  see  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  never  keep  engagements,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden ; 
"  and  everyone  knows  my  memory  is  so  bad  that  they 
always  forgive  me.  Someone  gave  me  a  little  note- 
book the  other  day,  with  my  initials  in  silver  upon  it 
— I  can't  remember  who  it  was — and  I  put  down  in 
it  all  the  tarsome  things  I  ought  to  do,  and  then 
I  lost  the  little  pocket-book." 

"  If  I  ever  find  it,"  I  said,  "  I  shall  bring  it  to 
you,  and  read  out  all  your  tarsome  engagements  to 
you." 

"  I  didn't  say  '  tarsome,' "  said  Mrs.  Fielden. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  whirling  through  the  London 
season,"  I  said  presently,  "  and  going  everywhere, 
and  having  your  frocks  chronicled  in  the  magazines, 
and  going  to  a  great  many  parties  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden ;  "  I  have  been  down  at 
Stanby." 

"  I  wish,"  I  remarked,  "  that  you  did  not  always 
give  one  unexpected  replies.  Why  have  you  been 

177 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

down  at  Stanby?  You  didn't  say  anything  about  it 
when  I  saw  you  last  night." 

"  Do  you  know  old  Miss  Lydia  Blind?  "  said  Mrs. 
Fielden.  "  She  is  ill,  and  I  got  rather  a  pathetic 
letter  from  her,  so  I  went  down  to  Stanby  to  look 
after  her." 

She  fumbled  for  the  pocket  of  her  dress,  raising 
first  what  seemed  to  be  a  layer  of  lace,  and  'then 
a  number  of  layers  of  chiffon,  and  then,  after  rust- 
ling amongst  some  silk  to  find  her  artfully-con- 
cealed pocket,  she  produced  a  letter  and  handed  it 
to  me. 

"Am  I  to  read  it?"  I  said;  and  Mrs.  Fielden 
nodded. 

"...  One  so  often  hears,"  so  the  letter  ran,  "  of  a 
case  of  long  illness  in  which  the  one  who  is  strong, 
and  who  acts  as  nurse  to  the  invalid,  breaks  down 
before  the  end  comes.  To  me  it  has  always  seemed 
to  show  that  the  strong  one's  courage  has  failed 
somehow,  and  that,  had  zeal  been  stronger  or  faith 
greater,  she  might  have  endured  to  the  end.  .  .  ." 
[And,  again,  in  a  postcript :  "  When  I  was  younger 
I  was  very  impatient,  and  I  think  I  could  not  well 
have  borne  it  had  I  known  that  life  was  to  be  a 
waiting  time.  I  do  not  say  this  in  any  discontented 
spirit,  dear,  and  I  only  write  to  you  because  you 

178 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

always  understand.  .  .  ."  And  then  the  letter  broke 
off  suddenly,  and  I  handed  it  back  to  Mrs.  Fielden. 

"  So  this  is  you,  as  Miss  Lydia  knows  you,"  I 
said. 

"  I  want  you  to  go  and  see  her  when  you  go  back 
to  Stowel.  Will  you?"  said  Mrs.  Fielden.  "Miss 
Lydia  is  an  angel,  you  know ;  the  best  woman  really 
that  ever  lived.  Will  you  take  her  some  things  I  am 
sending  her,  and  ask  how  she  is  when  you  go  back?  " 

We  drove  under  the  trees  of  Richmond  Park  in 
Mrs.  Fielden's  big,  luxurious  carriage.  She  generally 
drives  in  a  Victoria,  and  I  asked  her  why  she  had  the 
landau  out  this  afternoon. 

"A  whim,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden.  "I  am  full  of 
whims." 

But,  of  course,  a  landau  is  the  only  carriage  in 
which  a  lame  man,  who  has  to  sit  with  his  foot  up, 
can  put  it  comfortably  on  the  opposite  seat. 

We  drove  onwards,  and  she  stopped  the  carriage 
to  look  at  the  view  from  Richmond  Hill,  and  the 
soft  air  blew  up  to  us  in  a  manner  very  cool  and 
refreshing,  and  then  we  got  out  and  walked  about  for 
a  little,  and  Mrs.  Fielden  gave  me  her  arm. 

"  I  don't  really  require  an  arm,"  I  said,  "  but  I 
like  taking  yours." 

"  It  is  a  very  strong  arm,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden ;  and 
179 


'A.  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

she  exclaimed  quickly :  "  I  believe  I  am  getting  fat ! 
My  maid  tells  me  all  my  dresses  want  altering.  I 
wish  it  was  time  to  think  about  beginning  to  hunt 
again." 

"  Do  you  know,"  I  said,  "  I  always  thought,  till  I 
got  back  to  England,  that  my  leg  had  been  taken  off 
below  the  knee,  and  that  I  should  be  able  to  get 
astride  of  a  horse  again.  I  never  used  to  see  it,  of 
course,  when  they  dressed  it ;  and  when  I  counted  up 
the  things  I  should  be  able  to  do,  riding  was  always 
one  of  them.  I  didn't  sell  my  horses  till  just  the 
other  day." 

Mrs.  Fielden  did  not  sympathize,  but  one  of  her 
silences  fell  between  us.  We  did  not  speak  again 
till  she  began  to  tell  me  an  amusing  story,  which 
made  us  both  laugh;  but  when  she  was  sitting  in 
the  carriage,  and  the  footman  was  helping  me  in, 
and  we  were  still  laughing,  I  could  have  sworn  that 
her  eyes  looked  larger  and  softer  than  I  have  ever 
seen  them. 


180 


Chapter  XII 

IT  is  always  rather  melancholy  arriving  at  home 
alone,  and  I  miss  Palestrina  very  much  at  these 
times,  and  I  feel  ill-disposed  towards  Thomas.  Down- 
Jock  pretended  not  to  know  me,  and  barked  furiously 
when  I  drove  up  to  the  door,  and  then  ran  away  on 
three  legs,  making  believe,  as  he  sometimes  does  when 
he  wants  to  appeal  to  one's  pity,  that  he  is  old  and 
lame. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  sun- 
shine was  blazing  over  everything  when  I  hobbled 
down  the  hill  to  inquire  for  Miss  Lydia.  The  houses 
in  Stowel  are  all  roofed  with  red  tiles,  and  each 
garden  has  flowering  shrubs  in  it  or  beds  full  of 
bright-coloured  flowers,  so  that  the  little  place  has 
a  very  warm  and  happy  look  on  a  sunny  summer 
day.  A  great  heavy  horse-chestnut  tree  hung  over 
the  walls  of  the  doctor's  house,  and  scattered  frag- 
ments of  pink  blossom  when  the  soft  air  stirred 
gently.  The  wisteria  on  the  post-office  was  in  full 
bloom. 

One  of  the  visions  which  an  old  prophet  had  of 
the  beauty  and  peace  of  a  future  existence  in  a 

181 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

glorious  city  was  that  boys  and  girls  should  be 
playing  in  the  streets  thereof,  and  I  am  sometimes 
reminded  of  this  as  I  pass  down  the  broad  High 
Street  with  its  bordering  of  rough  grass,  and  its 
trees  that  grow  promiscuously  on  the  road-side  or 
in  the  middle  of  the  pathway.  Boys  and  girls  play 
on  the  broad  country  road  as  though  it  were  their 
nursery,  and  the  boys  have  successfully  claimed  as 
their  playground  the  bit  of  pavement  in  front  of  the 
vestry  hall,  where  they  can  spin  their  tops  unrebuked. 
When  one  returns  to  the  country  it  is  its  essentially 
rustic  side  that  one  finds  most  appealing.  That  one's 
fish  and  groceries  should  be  carried  on  a  tray  on 
some  rosy-cheeked  urchin's  head,  across  fields  and 
down  flowering  lanes,  seems  to  one  a  most  happy 
arrangement.  And  a  shopkeeper  enjoying  his  news- 
paper and  a  nap  in  a  chair  behind  the  counter  cer- 
tainly gives  an  air  of  restfulness  to  the  shop.  And 
the  place  was  so  full  of  pleasant  sounds  this  after- 
noon— of  singing  birds,  and  heavy  rolling  waggons 
moving  up  the  broad  street,  and  the  laughter  of  the 
children,  and  the  soft  rush  of  the  summer  wind 
through  the  trees,  that  one  felt  that  a  day  like  this 
gave  one  a  very  strong  leaning  in  favour  of  the  happy 
view  that  life  is,  after  all,  a  good  thing. 

One  had,  of  course,  to  stop  and  speak  to  several  old 
182 


rA  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

friends,  who  said  they  were  thankful  to  see  me  back, 
as  though  a  visit  to  London  were  an  expedition 
fraught  with  many  dangers. 

When  I  reached  the  little  cottage  with  the  green 
gate  and  the  maid  opened  the  door  to  me,  she  told 
me  that  Lydia  Blind  had  died  an  hour  ago. 

The  staircase  of  the  little  house  is  directly  opposite 
the  front  door.  I  could  not  but  believe  that  if  I  waited 
a  little  while  Miss  Lydia  would  descend  the  stairs, 
as  she  always  did,  with  a  smile  which  never  failed 
to  welcome  everyone.  Or,  surely,  if  she  were  not 
within  doors,  I  would  only  have  to  pass  out  into  the 
little  garden  at  the  back  of  the  house  to  find  her 
amongst  her  flowers.  I  thought  suddenly  of  the 
words  of  a  boy  I  used  to  know  at  school,  who,  when 
a  young  playfellow  died,  said  between  his  sobs :  "  It 
was  so  hard  upon  him  dying  before  he  had  had  a 
good  time."  Certainly  ever  since  we  knew  her, 
Lydia's  life  had  been  one  long  sacrifice  to  a  witless 
invalid,  and  I  couldn't  help  feeling  that  perhaps  no 
one  would  ever  know  the  extent  of  her  patient  service. 
Probably  there  never  lived  a  more  unselfish  woman, 
and  I  cannot  think  why  she  never  married. 

She  was  a  person  who  lacked  worldly  wisdom,  and 
in  worldly  matters  she  was  not  prosperous — she  never 
sowed  that  sort  of  grain.  It  was  very  touching  to  me 

183 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

to  find  that  she  had  not  even  a  few  trinkets  to  leave 
behind,  but  that  one  by  one  each  had  been  sold  to 
pay  for  something  for  the  invalid — a  doctor's  fee, 
or  a  chemist's  heavy  bill.  She  left  the  world  as  un- 
obtrusively as  she  lived  in  it.  Her  last  illness  was 
very  sudden  and  brief,  and  probably  she  would  have 
been  thankful  that  the  little  household  was  spared 
any  extra  expense.  Even  the  sheet  that  covered  her, 
they  tell  me,  was  thin  and  darned. 

The  news  of  Lydia's  death  was  unexpected  by 
everyone.  When  I  turned  and  left  the  house  and 
was  walking  home  again,  I  met  Mrs.  Taylor  going 
to  inquire  for  her  neighbour's  health,  with  an  offer- 
ing of  fruit  in  a  little  basket.  She  begged  me,  in 
the  Stowel  fashion,  to  turn  and  walk  back  with  her, 
declaring  that  she  felt  so  seriously  upset  by  the  news 
that  if  I  would  only  see  her  as  far  as  her  gate,  I 
should  be  doing  her  a  kindness.  In  the  garden  the 
General,  who  had  run  down  to  Stowel  for  a  couple 
of  days,  was  reclining  in  a  deck-chair,  Indian  fashion. 
He  was  reading  some  cookery  recipes  in  a  number 
of  Truth,  and  he  turned  to  his  niece,  as  she  crossed 
the  lawn,  and  said,  "  Do  you  think  your  cook  could 
manage  this,  Mary?  Select  a  fine  pineapple " 

"  Oh,  uncle,"  said  Mrs.  Taylor,  with  a  good  deal  of 
feeling,  "  we  have  had  such  bad  news !  Our  dear 

184 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

old  friend  in  the  village,  Miss  Lydia  Blind,  is 
dead." 

"What  Lydia  Blind?"  said  the  General;  and 
Mrs.  Taylor  replied: 

"  You  never  knew  her,  dear.  She  wasn't  able  to 
come  to  The  Party;  indeed,  I  think  she  has  been 
ailing  ever  since  about  that  time,  but  we  had  no 
idea  that  the  end  was  so  near." 

"  It  can't  be  the  Lydia  Blind  I  used  to  know  ?  " 
said  the  General. 

"  Oh,  no,  you  couldn't  have  known  her,"  said 
Mrs.  Taylor,  with  a  sob ;  "  she  was  just  a  dear  old 
maiden  lady  living  in  the  village  on  very  small 
means." 

"  She  hadn't  a  sister  called  Belinda,  had  she?  " 
said  the  General. 

Mrs.  Taylor  said  she  had,  and  I  remembered  sud- 
denly how  I  had  seen  Lydia  Blind  standing  one 
.morning  in  front  of  the  General's  picture  in  the 
photographer's  shop,  and  her  saying,  "  I  used  to 
know  him." 

Mrs.  Taylor  went  indoors,  and  I  said  good-bye, 
but  the  General  said  to  me  abruptly,  "  I  should  like 
to  see  her ;  will  you  take  me  there  ?  "  And  he  did  not 
say  more  until  we  found  ourselves  in  the  little  porch 
of  the  cottage.  He  looked  very  tall  standing  by  the 

185 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

low  door  of  the  house,  and  an  odd  idea  came  to  me 
that  Miss  Lydia  would  have  been  proud  of  her  after- 
noon caller. 

"  Let  me  go  alone,"  he  said  gruffly,  when  he  had 
asked  permission  to  go  to  her  room,  and  I  waited 
in  Lydia's  morning-room,  with  its  twine  cases  and 
unframed  sketches,  and  the  photographs  of  babies. 

"  I  cannot  see  the  sister,"  said  the  General  irrita- 
bly, when  he  had  rejoined  me  in  the  darkened  room. 
"  Is  she  still  dumb,  poor  thing  ?  If  ever  there  was 
a  case,"  he  went  on,  "  of  one  life — and,  to  my  mind, 
the  sweeter  and  the  better  life — being  sacrificed  to 
another,  it  is  in  the  case  of  Lydia  Blind."  He  sat 
down  on  the  little  green  sofa,  and  looked  about  him 
with  eyes  that  seemed  to  see  nothing.  "  I  never 
expected  such  a  thing,"  he  said ;  "  I  couldn't  have 
expected  a  thing  like  this  ...  I  didn't  even  know 
she  lived  here.  .  .  .  Do  you  remember  her,"  he  said, 
"  when  she  was  very  pretty  ?  No,  no,  of  course  you 
wouldn't.  ...  It  doesn't  hurt  you  to  walk  a  little, 
does  it?  I  have  lived  nearly  all  my  life  out  of  doors, 
and  when  anything  upsets  me  I  cannot  stand  being 
within  four  walls " 

We  went  out  and  crossed  the  field-path,  into  the 
deep  hush  of  the  woods  beyond.  The  paths  of  the 
woods  are  narrow  and  uneven,  and  at  first  we  walked 

180 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

in  single  file,  until  we  came  to  the  broader  road 
beyond  the  stream,  and  then  we  walked  on  side  by 
side,  the  General  suiting  his  pace  to  my  slow,  awk- 
ward gait. 

" .  .  .  .  Did  you  ever  know  the  Bazeleys  at  all? 
No,  you  wouldn't  of  course;  that  would  be  before 
your  time.  They  had  a  very  pretty  place  in  Lincoln- 
shire— a  charming  place — with  a  veranda  round  the 
house,  and  wicker-chairs  with  coloured  cushions  on 
them — more  like  an  Indian  house  than  an  English 
one.  .  .  .  Harold  Bazeley  was  in  love  with  Lydia, 
too."  (I  believe  the  General  was  talking  more  to 
himself  than  to  me.)  "  It  was  one  night  sitting  in 
the  veranda  that  I  heard  him  begin  to  make  love  to 
her  for  all  he  was  worth,  and  I  had  to  cut  it.  ... 
Poor  chap!  he  came  into  the  smoking-room  that 
night  where  I  was  sitting  alone,  and  he  sat  down  by 
the  table  and  put  his  head  in  his  hands.  He  may 
have  been  saying  his  prayers  (for  he  was  always  a 
religious  man  ....  he  did  a  lot  of  good  for  the 
men  under  him  in  India),  and  I  sat  with  him  till  it  was 
time  to  go  to  bed.  I  don't  know  if  it  was  any 
comfort  to  him,  but  I  knew  from  his  face  that  Lydia 
must  have  said  no,  and  I  thought  perhaps  he  wouldn't 
like  being  alone.  .  .  .  Well,  then  of  course  one 
didn't  like  to  rush  in  and  ask  one's  best  friend's  girl 

187 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

to  marry  one  so  soon  after  his  disappointment.  One 
had  very  strict  ideas  about  honour  in  those  days;  I 
hope  one  has  not  lost  them.  ...  It  is  very  odd 
that  I  was  never  here  before  until  last  spring. 
Nearly  all  my  service  has  been  abroad,  and  I  gen- 
erally used  to  spend  my  leave  hunting  or  in  London, 
and  my  niece  used  to  come  up  and  stay  with  me 
there.  ...  I  didn't  care  much  for  Taylor  in 
those  days,  but  he  really  isn't  a  bad  sort  of  fel- 
low." 

The  sun  began  to  sink  behind  the  trees,  and  the 
General  seemed  to  wake  from  the  reverie  in  which 
he  had  been  talking  to  me  and  said :  "  You  oughtn't 
to  be  out  after  sunset,  if  you  have  still  got  malaria 
about  you,"  and  we  began  to  walk  slowly  home- 
wards. 

"  It  was  just  such  an  evening  as  this,"  he  said, 
"  when  I  bade  her  good-bye,  meaning  to  come  back 
in  a  little  while  and  ask  her  to  marry  me.  She  was 
standing  by  the  gate — fine  old  gates  with  stone  pil- 
lars to  them,  and  the  sun  shone  full  in  her  eyes.  .  .  . 
I  suppose  that  gentle,  sweet  look  never  left  them, 
did  it?  They  were  closed,  of  course,  when  I  saw 
them  just  now.  .  .  .  She  was  wearing  a  white  dress 
that  evening,  I  remember — a  sort  of  muslin  dress 
which,  I  suppose,  would  not  be  fashionable  now,  but 

188 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

which  looked  very  pretty  then.  It  had  a  lot  of  pink 
ribbons  about  it,  and  there  was  a  great  bunch  of  pink 
moss-roses  in  the  ribbon  of  her  belt.  .  .  .  Do  you 
know  I  never  picture  her  except  as  the  girl  who  stood 
by  the  gate  with  the  sun  behind  her,  and  the  roses 
in  her  belt.  I  think  I  lost  my  head  a  little  when  it 
came  to  saying  good-bye,  and  I  began  to  say  things 
which  I  had  not  meant  to  say — she  looked  so  pretty 
with  the  red  sunlight  upon  her,  and  her  white  muslin 
dress  almost  turned  to  pink  in  the  glare.  ...  I 
don't  think  she  was  surprised,  only  sweeter  and  gen- 
tler than  before,  and  a  curious  happy  look  was  in  her 
eyes.  But  I  stopped  in  time,  and  stammered  like  a 
fool,  thinking  of  poor  Harold  Bazeley,  and  then  I  said 
good-bye  rather  hurriedly.  But  I  came  back  again 
to  the  gate  where  she  was  still  standing,  and  asked 
if  I  might  have  one  of  the  roses  in  her  belt.  And 
she  gave  me  the  whole  bunch. 

".  .  .  It  must  have  been  after  this  that  the  father 
died  and  left  them  very  poor,  and  then  the  sister 
(this  one,  Belinda)  had  a  stroke  of  paralysis,  and 
there  was  no  one  to  look  after  her  but  Lydia.  .  .  . 
I  wrote  and  proposed  to  her  before  I  went  to  India — 
asked  her  to  come  with  me  as  my  wife.  But  she 
said  she  could  not  marry  while  her  sister  lived.  It 
isn't  as  though  we  could  have  remained  in  England, 

189 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

and  she  could  have  lived  with  us;  but,  of  course, 
India  would  have  been  an  impossibility  for  the  poor 
thing.  We  never  thought  in  those  days  that  poor 
Belinda  would  live  long.  And  then  she  made  a  sort 
of  recovery,  but  was  still  quite  helpless,  and  Lydia 
wrote  and  asked  me  to  wait  for  her  no  longer.  .  .  . 
I  never  heard  that  she  had  come  to  live  at  Stowel." 

The  broad,  wide  village  road  was  dim  with  twilight 
when  we  walked  home  along  it — the  Uncle  and 
I.  The  children  had  all  gone  home,  and  the  flowers 
in  the  little  garden  had  lost  their  colour  in  the 
dim  twilight.  There  was  a  strange  silence  over  the 
little  place,  almost  as  though,  in  some  way,  which 
I  suppose  is  possible,  the  things  which  we  call  inani- 
mate or  unreasoning  knew  that  the  Angel  of  Death 
had  visited  the  little  place,  and  had  borne  away  a 
very  gentle  soul  from  it. 

As  we  passed  by  the  cottage  the  General  halted 
on  the  quiet,  deserted  road  and  took  off  his  hat ;  then 
he  leaned  over  the  little  green  paling  and  drew  to- 
wards him  a  branch  of  a  moss-rose  tree  that  Miss 
Lydia  had  planted  there.  He  plucked  a  bud  from 
it  and  held  it  to  his  face.  Then  he  said  gently, 
"  They  are  the  same  sort,  but  they  do  not  smell  so 
sweet." 


190 


Chapter  XIII 

MRS.  FIELDEN  came  to  Stowel  for  the  funeral,  and 
did  not  return  to  London  again.  She  went  to  pay 
some  visits,  I  believe,  and  afterwards  she  will  go  to 
Scotland  to  stay  with  the  Melfords,  as  she  always 
does  in  August.  It  was  a  very  quiet  summer. 
Anthony  went  to  Ireland  to  fish,  and  Major  Jacobs 
went  with  him  instead  of  me:  Anthony  and  I  used 
to  take  the  fishing  together.  Even  Frances  Taylor 
went  north  to  stay  with  Mrs.  Macdonald,  and  the 
Reading  Society  postponed  its  future  meetings  till 
the  winter  should  come  again. 

Undoubtedly  Kate  Jamieson's  wedding  was  a  very 
stirring  event  in  a  very  dull  time.  The  festivities 
connected  with  it  were  carried  out  with  the  Jamiesons' 
usual  energy  and  lavishness.  It  is  possible  to  be 
lavish  on  five  hundred  a  year!  That  is  one  of  the 
pleasing  things  that  kind-hearted  people  like  the 
Jamiesons  can  prove.  No  one  was  omitted  in  the  list 
of  invitations  to  the  reception,  which  was  held  on 
the  lawn  in  front  of  the  house.  And  there  the  whole 
of  the  Jamiesons'  wide  circle  of  friends  was  gathered 
together,  forming  an  assembly  which  surely  only  the 

191 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

censorious  mind  could  find  fault  with.  The  Family 
of  Higginses  were  represented  in  large  numbers,  and 
as  it  was  a  considerable  pleasure  to  them  to  meet 
people  in  a  higher  rank  of  life  than  themselves,  and 
as  the  little  party  gave  these  humbler  of  our  neigh- 
bours very  much  more  enjoyment  than  it  gave  to 
those  in  a  higher  social  scale,  it  can  only  be  con- 
sidered right  and  fitting  that  they  were  asked  to 
Kate's  party.  The  refreshments,  these  good  Jamie- 
sons  informed  us,  with  their  ingenuous  interest  in 
discussing  detail,  were  prepared  by  Margaret,  and 
Kate  contributed  to  the  payment  of  their  ingredients 
from  her  small  savings.  The  group  of  bride  and 
bridesmaids,  which  was  photographed  at  the  front 
door,  each  wearing  an  expression  of  acute  distress 
upon  her  face,  was  George's  own  idea,  and  was  nobly 
paid  for  by  him. 

It  was  announced  at  the  wedding-feast — although 
it  had  been  whispered  for  a  long  time — that  there 
was  soon  to  be  another  break  in  the  Jamieson  Family. 
We  all  instantly  prepared  a  smile  of  congratulation 
for  Maud,  and  some  disappointment  was  felt  when 
it  was  discovered  that  the  remark  applied  to  Mrs. 
Jamieson's  youngest  son,  Kennie.  The  Pirate  had 
for  some  time  been  informing  his  friends  that  the 
Wild  West  was  "  calling  to  him,"  and  that  he  had 

192 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

the  "  go  fever,"  and  that  "  once  he  had  known  the 
perfect  freedom  of  life  out  there  "  it  was  impossible 
to  settle  down  to  the  conventionalities  of  English 
society  again.  The  Pirate  had  obtained  a  post  as 
purser  on  one  of  the  ships  of  the  company  to  which 
he  belonged,  and  he  appeared  at  the  wedding-break- 
fast in  a  suit  of  white  ducks,  a  gold-laced  cap,  and 
the  famous  cummerbund.  I  have  a  strong  suspicion 
that  he  had  a  revolver  concealed  in  a  mysterious 
pocket,  from  the  way  his  hand,  in  moments  of  ex- 
citement, occasionally  moved  towards  it,  but,  fortu- 
nately, the  wedding  party  was  of  so  peaceful  a  de- 
scription that  it  was  not  necessary  to  produce  the 
weapon. 

Since  the  exciting  news  of  Kennie's  proposed  de- 
parture for  Buenos  Ayres,  Mettie  has  developed 
nerves  and  hysteria.  But  so  limited  is  the  power  of 
imagination  or  discrimination  in  the  human  mind,  that 
I  must  honestly  confess  that  I  never  once  connected 
her  indisposition  and  low  spirits  with  the  news  of  her 
cousin's  departure.  Mettie  has  added  to  a  certain 
helpessness,  which  always  distinguishes  her,  a  ten- 
dency to  tears,  and  to  sitting  alone  in  her  bedroom 
and  sniffing  dolorously;  the  big,  thin  nose  requires 
constant  attention,  and  there  are  red  rims  round  poor 
Mettie's  eyes.  The  Jamiesons,  who  trace  every  vari- 

193 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

atlon  in  life  to  a  love  affair,  were  not  long,  of  course, 
in  coming  to  the  right  and  the  sentimental — nay, 
from  the  Jamieson  point  of  view,  the  only  reasonable 
explanation  of  this  change  in  their  little  cousin ;  but 
Mettie  has  entreated  them  to  say  nothing,  and  to  let 
her  suffer  in  silence,  and  they  are  too  loyal  to  betray 
her  interesting  confidences.  Kennie  himself  is,  I  be- 
lieve, still  unaware  of  the  interest  he  is  exciting  in 
Mettie's  gentle  breast,  but  doubtless  the  little 
woman's  extreme  timidity  and  her  clinging  disposi- 
tion appeal  in  no  small  measure  to  the  Defender  of  the 
Sex.  Mettie  raises  meek,  adoring  eyes  to  the  Pirate's 
ruddy  face,  under  the  gold-laced  cap,  and  murmurs 
with  clasped  hands:  "You  will  never  come  back  to 
us — I  know  it,  I  feel  it!  You  will  be  murdered  by 
some  gang  of  cutthroats,  and  then  what  will  I — I 
mean  your  mother,  do?  "  The  Pirate  plumes  himself 
and  struts,  and  the  dangers  that  his  little  cousin 
has  so  powerfully  depicted  for  him  make  his  young 
heart  swell. 

The  village  church  was  quite  full  of  spectators  and 
friends ;  nearly  all  our  acquaintances  in  the  village 
wore  new  gowns — or  apparently  new  gowns — for  the 
wedding.  Mrs.  Lovekin,  in  a  black  cloth  mantle 
with  bead  trimming,  showed  the  guests  into  their 
pews,  and  directed  the  children  at  the  doorway  into 

194 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

giving  a  ringing  cheer  as  the  bride  drove  up  to  the 
church.  It  was  whispered  by  a  wag  that  Mrs.  Love- 
kin  would  like  to  don  a  surplice  and  officiate  at  the 
interesting  ceremony  herself.  There  was  a  party 
in  white  cotton  gloves  who  banged  doors  and 
shouted  "  Drive  on ! "  and  it  was  hard  to  realize  that 
this  was  the  Jamiesons'  odd  man  and  gardener,  trans- 
formed for  the  occasion.  He  wore  a  large  white  rib- 
bon rosette  in  his  button-hole,  and  all  the  morning 
he  was  busy  erecting  an  archway  over  the  gate  at 
Belmont  with  Union  Jacks  displayed  thereon,  out 
of  consideration,  as  he  explained,  to  the  late  Cap- 
tain Jamieson,  he  being  military.  The  Miss  Traceys 
were  resplendent  in  brown  dresses  and  profuse  lace 
neckties,  securely  anchored  to  their  chests  by  mas- 
sive brooches ;  the  dresses  were  afterwards  mentioned 
in  an  account  of  the  wedding  in  the  local  paper,  and 
it  was  cut  out  and  carefully  kept  by  the  Miss  Tra- 
ceys, who  pasted  the  interesting  news  in  a  small  album 
for  news-cuttings  which  they  bought  for  the  pur- 
pose. 

At  the  Jamiesons'  little  house  there  was,  I  under- 
stand, a  wild  state  of  confusion  and  energy  from  a 
very  early  hour  in  the  morning,  and  looking-glasses 
and  hand-mirrors  were  in  great  demand.  The  centre 
of  interest  there,  it  seems,  was  Kate's  bedroom,  where 

195 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

the  whole  of  The  Family  congregated  to  give  Kate  a 
last  kiss  before  the  veil  was  put  on,  and  to  wish  her 
happiness  again  and  again.  George,  who  through- 
out the  entire  proceedings  made  a  laudable  attempt 
to  appear  calm,  at  last  told  his  sister  that  it  really 
was  time  to  start,  and  the  carriage  rolled  down  the 
hill,  and  Kate  Jamieson  alighted  from  it,  and  walked 
up  the  aisle  of  the  old  church  leaning  upon  her 
brother's  arm.  Eliza  Jamieson  was  busy  with  a  note- 
book the  whole  time,  and  almost  one  seemed  to  begin 
to  see  the  wedding  through  her  journalistic  eyes. 

Our  curate's  wife,  who  is  still  far  from  strong, 
asked  Palestrina  to  look  after  Peggy,  who  expressed 
a  wish  to  see  the  wedding,  and  I  was  interested  to 
find  how  many  little  games  Peggy  had  invented  for 
herself,  by  way  of  getting  through  the  tedium  of  a 
service — games  which  I  imagine  she  had  been  pre- 
paring during  the  many  services  which  a  curate's 
little  girl  is  supposed  to  attend. 

"  If  you  press  your  eyes  to  the  back  of  your  head 
as  far  as  you  can,"  she  whispered  to  me,  "  you  can 
see  green  and  red  and  blue  spots,  and  then  open 
them  and  you  can  see  green  and  red  and  blue  spots 
round  father."  And  again :  "  I  can  say,  *  We  be- 
seech Thee ! '  seven  times  over  while  the  choir  are 
singing  it,  if  we  have  Jackson's  Te  Deum."  And 

196 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

then :  "  Do  you  know  what  George  and  I  do,  when 
we  are  sent  to  church  alone?  we  hide  in  the  pew  until 
no  one  thinks  we  are  there,  and  then  we  pop  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  service  and  begin  to  say  the  responses. 
When  we  sit  with  the  Sunday-school  children  we 
play  at  *  My  husband  and  your  husband/  and  then 
we  each  choose  in  turn  which  husband  we'll  have  in 
the  congregation;  you  see,  the  first  man  who  comes 
in  is  to  be  the  first  child's  husband,  and  the  second 
the  second  child's ;  that's  how  we  manage ;  last  Sun- 
day I  got  the  baker's  boy." 

Mr.  Swinnerton  was  at  the  wedding,  somewhat 
inclined  to  be  consequential  as  usual;  but  as  he 
devoted  his  whole  attention  to  Margaret,  one  could 
not  but  feel  that  his  presence  was  acceptable.  (We 
are  on  the  tip-toe  of  expectation  to  know  when  Mr. 
Swinnerton  will  "  come  to  the  point.")  Margaret 
Jamieson  was  more  than  usually  gentle  and  kindly, 
and  I  am  still  wondering  how  it  came  about  that  we 
ever  considered  her  plain.  She  was  the  one  who 
looked  after  the  needs  of  the  Higginses'  relations, 
and  attended  to  the  wants  of  all  the  humbler  of  the 
guests. 

There  was  still  another  element  of  interest  in  the 
marriage-party  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Evans,  who  ran 
down  from  Hampstead  for  it.  "  If  Mr.  Evans 

197 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

comes,"  Maud  said,  with  the  characteristic,  fine  com- 
mon sense  of  The  Family,  "  I  want  you  all  to  under- 
stand that  it  is  all  quite  over  between  him  and  me. 
But  what  I  have  always  thought  about  Mr.  Evans  is 
this — that  he  is  the  sort  of  man  who  would  like  The 
Family,  and  I  do  not  see  why  he  should  not  take  a 
fancy  to  one  of  the  other  members  of  it.  I  am  quite 
sure  his  affection  for  me  was  based  upon  my  suit- 
ability. He  often  told  me,  for  instance,  that  he 
would  like  a  wife  that  was  brought  up  to  do  things 
for  herself,  and  could  manage  on  a  small  income 
and  dress  cheaply,  and  I  am  sure  we  can  all  do  that. 
And  after  all,  if  that  is  so,  one  of  us  is  as  suitable  as 
another.  He  had  very  definite  ideas  about  a  wife; 
but  I  couldn't  help  feeling  all  the  time  that  it  was 
someone  like  ourselves  that  he  had  in  his  mind. 
He  seemed  to  have  a  great  dread  of  anyone  who  was 
too  smart;  and  I  said  to  him  at  the  time — for,  of 
course,  we  both  talked  about  our  families  a  good 
deal,  as  one  does  in  the  first  stages — that  we  were 
all  very  homely  sort  of  people.  I  could  always 
background  myself  if  he  seemed,  for  instance,  to 
take  a  fancy  to  Gracie.  And  Gracie  herself  has 
often  said  that  she  thinks  she  would  like  a  man  to 
wear  a  white  watered-silk  waistcoat." 

Gracie  looked  quite  pleased  with  the  arrangement, 
198 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

and  Mr.  Evans  was  asked  down  "  as  a  friend."  And 
I  should  here  like  to  record — only,  of  course,  it  is 
going  too  far  ahead — that  before  the  summer  was 
over  Mr.  Evans,  charmed  with  The  Family,  as 
Maud  felt  he  would  be,  and  convinced  of  their 
suitability,  had  chosen  Gracie  from  amongst  the 
remaining  Miss  Jamiesons  who  were  still  at  the 
disposal  of  those  who  seek  a  wife.  Gracie's  energy 
charmed  Mr.  Evans.  He  often  said  afterwards 
that  he  believed  he  had  got  the  pick  of  the  basket 
after  all. 

It  was  quite  evident  to  me,  and,  I  believe,  to  most 
of  the  Jamiesons'  guests,  that  one  of  the  mysteries 
so  dear  to  the  hearts  of  Stowel  was  in  preparation 
for  the  wedding  afternoon.  Not  even  my  sister  and 
I  had  been  initiated  into  the  secret ;  but  Mrs.  Jamie- 
son,  it  must  be  confessed,  took  away  from  the  shock 
of  surprise  which  might  have  been  ours  by  referring 
during  the  whole  afternoon  to  the  entertainment 
which  was  to  take  place  later.  The  Jamiesons  had 
decided  that  the  lawn,  newly  mown,  was  to  be 
suddenly  cleared  of  trestle-tables  and  garden-chairs, 
and  that  a  small  band  of  musicians  was  to  spring  up 
unexpectedly  out  of  the  ground,  as  it  were,  and  that 
everyone  was  to  know  suddenly  that  they  were  in 
the  midst  of  an  impromptu  dance.  Now,  Mrs. 

199 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

Jamieson,  nervously  expectant,  and  half  fearing 
from  the  detached  manners  of  her  daughters  (so 
well  did  the  Miss  Jamiesons  simulate  their  ignorance 
of  what  was  before  them)  that  they  must  indeed 
have  forgotten  about  the  dance,  interrupted  every 
conversation  by  creeping  up  to  them  in  her  melan- 
choly, quiet  way,  and  saying,  "  Shall  I  get  them  to 
clear  away  now?  " 

"  It's  to  be  impromptu,  mamma,"  entreated  the 
Miss  Jamiesons,  in  agitated  whispers.  It  had  been 
decided  between  them  that  Gracie,  as  the  youngest 
of  the  party,  should  exclaim  suddenly,  by  some 
happy  inspiration,  "  I  vote  we  dance " ;  and  that 
then,  ,in  a  perfectly  easy  and  natural  manner,  guests 
and  entertainers  alike  should,  with  the  utmost  friend- 
liness, help  to  push  back  the  tables  and  chairs  into 
the  lilac-bushes,  and  then  that  the  musicians  should 
he  hastily  summoned  from  the  kitchen,  where  they 
were  to  have  tea.  Before  that  time  arrived  the  un- 
fortunate Mrs.  Jamieson  had,  as  one  might  say, 
almost  skimmed  the  cream  off  the  whole  thing.  Her 
nervousness  would  not  allow  her  to  rest,  and  in  the 
end,  she  established  the  musicians  in  the  three 
chairs  so  artlessly  prepared  for  them  under  the 
chestnut-tree;  and  there  they  were  with  fiddle  and 
concertina  long  before  Gracie  had  found  an  oppor- 

200 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

tunity  of  making  her  impromptu  suggestion.  Their 
sudden  appearance,  one  could  not  but  feel,  detracted 
from  the  unprepared  effect  that  had  been  intended, 
and  they  stood  waiting  to  begin  with  quite  a  forlorn 
appearance,  until  the  Pirate,  for  whom  the  arrival 
of  the  hour  means  the  arrival  of  the  man  (if  the 
Pirate  is  anywhere  about),  called  out  in  his  loud 
tones,  "  Strike  up,  you  fellows,  and  let  us  have  a 
dance ! "  and  the  very  next  moment  the  white  drill 
suit  and  the  gold-laced  cap  of  Kennie  might  have 
been  seen  in  the  middle  of  the  lawn.  He  gallantly 
seized  Mettie  round  the  waist,  and  scattered  the 
guests  by  the  onslaught  and  the  fierce  charge  he 
made  upon  them,  and  had  soon  cleared  a  space  in 
which  he  footed  it  gaily.  The  Higginses,  who  had 
been  rather  shy  during  the  reception,  hastened  to 
find  partners,  and  warmed  to  the  occasion  at  once. 
Young  Abel  Higgins,  the  handsome  young  farmer 
from  Dorming,  said  it  was  the  pleasantest  entertain- 
ment he  had  ever  been  at.  "  There  is  no  cliquism 
about  it,"  he  remarked.  "  You  just  say  to  a  girl, 
'Will  you  dance?'  and  up  she  comes;  it  doesn't 
matter  if  she's  a  lord's  daughter ! " 

Mr.  Swinnerton  devoted  much  of  his  attention 
and  his  conversation  to  me  during  the  afternoon. 
He  discussed  what  he  calls  military  matters  at  great 

201 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

length,  pointing  out  the  mistakes  of  every  General 
in  South  Africa,  at  the  same  time  clearly  stating 
what  Mr.  Swinnerton  would  have  done  under  similar 
circumstances,  and  in  lamenting  the  inefficiency  of 
the  War  Office.  Later  in  the  afternoon,  however, 
when  he  found  me  where,  as  I  hoped,  I  had 
effectually  concealed  myself  behind  a  laurel-bush, 
Mr.  Swinnerton  plunged  heavily  into  the  question 
of  marriage,  and  this,  as  Maud  would  say,  was 
surely  a  very  hopeful  sign.  I  was  disappointed, 
however,  to  find  that  his  views  regarding  the  happy 
state  of  matrimony  seemed  to  have  been  made  almost 
entirely  from  one  point  of  view,  and  that  point  of 
view  himself. 

"  Don't  you  think,"  he  began  ponderously,  as  he 
seated  himself  beside  me  after  the  rather  heavy 
fatigue  of  dancing  on  a  lawn  to  the  strains  of  a  band 
that  did  not  keep  scrupulous  time — "  don't  you  think 
that  a  man  ought  to  see  a  girl  in  her  own  home 
before  he  makes  up  his  mind?  " 

I  dissented,  on  the  plea  of  over-cautiousness,  but 
Mr.  Swinnerton  did  not  hear  me. 

"  What  I  think,"  he  went  on,  "  is  that  marriage  is 
a  serious  undertaking  for  a  man,  and  that  one  ought 
to  be  very  sure  of  one's  own  mind." 

I  admitted  the  seriousness  of  matrimony,  but 
202 


A  Lame    Dog's    Diary 

thought  it  applied  equally  to  the  woman,  whose 
sheltered  life  before  marriage  and  added  duties  after- 
wards rendered  the  venture  perhaps  even  more  serious 
to  her  than  to  the  husband. 

This  remark  also  seemed  to  escape  Mr.  Swinner- 
ton's  attention.  Indeed,  I  found  that  what  is  ex- 
tremely irritating  about  this  fellow  is  that  his  mind 
never  diverges  from  his  own  topic;  he  seems  quite 
incapable  of  excursions  into  the  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings of  the  persons  he  addresses,  but  plods  steadily 
on  his  own  path,  pleased  to  give  his  own  views,  and 
quite  unaffected  by  the  differences  of  opinion  that 
are  offered  him.  There  is  a  legend  of  my  childhood 

that  records  that  a  man  once  said,  "  It  is  bitt " 

and  then  went  to  sleep  for  a  thousand  years,  and 
when  he  woke  up  he  said,  " — erly  cold."  I  am  often 
reminded  of  this  story  when  I  listen  to  Mr.  Swinner- 
ton's  plodding  conversation. 

"  What  I  feel  is,"  he  went  on — and  one  knew  that 
no  fatigue  on  the  part  of  the  listener  would  be 
noticed  by  him — "  what  I  feel  is  that  the  man  being 
the  head  of  the  woman,  he  should  always  choose 
someone  who  is  docile  and  good-tempered,  and  per- 
haps, above  all  things,  a  good  cook.  That's  the  very 
first  thing  I  would  teach  a  woman — to  be  a  good 
cook.  It's  so  important  for  a  man  to  have  his  meals 

203 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

really  nice  and  nicely  served.     Don't  you  agree  with 
me?  " 

"  It  is  very  important,"  I  said. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  agree  with  me."  Mr.  Swinner- 
ton  occasionally  remarks  on  an  agreeable  clause  in 
one's  conversation,  whereas  a  disagreement  never 
even  penetrates  his  mind.  "  Of  course  you  fellows, 
with  your  mess  and  all  that,  can  scarcely  realize 
how  necessary  it  is  that  a  man's  wife  should  be  a 
good  cook,  and  then  she  ought  to  be  thoroughly 
domesticated,"  went  on  Mr.  Swinnerton's  heavy  voice. 
"  A  woman  should  not  always  be  wanting  to  go  out 
in  the  evening.  What  I  feel  is  that  the  home  should 
constitute  the  woman's  happiness." 

"  And  cooking?  "  I  said. 

"  Yes,  and  cooking,"  said  Mr.  Swinnerton.  "  I 
do  not  want  my  wife  to  have  any  money ;  I  had  much 
rather  she  had  to  come  to  me  for  things.  I  am  not 
greedy  about  money.  I  am  comfortably  off,  but  I 
think  a  man  should  have  entire  control  of  the  purse. 
One  could  knock  off  any  expenditure  on  a  wife's 
dress,  if  that  is  the  case.  Ladies  like  a  new  bonnet, 
and  I  should  always  give  my  wife  a  new  bonnet  if 
things  had  been  nice." 

I  remarked  that  Mr.  Swinnerton  was  very  gen- 
erous. 

204 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  I  know  I  am  generous.  Of  course  a  man  gives 
up  a  great  deal  when  he  marries,  but  I  do  not  know 
that  in  the  matter  of  expense  it  would  cost  me  more 
to  keep  a  small  house  than  to  pay  for  lodgings." 

"  It  depends,"  I  said,  "  what  wages  you  give  your 
wife.  An  occasional  new  bonnet  would  not  be  an 
extravagant  salary,  if  she  turned  out  a  really  good 
cook." 

For  the  first  time  Mr.  Swinnerton  seemed  struck 
by  the  wisdom  of  my  remarks.  "  No,  it  would  not," 
he  said — "  it  would  not.  I  know  that  I  would  make 
a  good  husband,"  he  remarked ;  "  and  I  feel  that  I 
have  a  future  before  me  in  the  volunteers." 

Margaret  joined  us  at  this  moment,  and  Swinner- 
ton smiled  indulgently  at  her,  without  offering,  how- 
ever, to  give  her  his  seat.  I  do  not  think  that 
Margaret  noticed  this,  as  she  did  not  notice  any 
omission  on  Mr.  Swinnerton's  part.  "  I  hope  you 
are  not  very  tired,"  she  said.  "  Your  journey  from 
London  and  then  this  little  dance  must  be  very 
fatiguing,  I  am  afraid." 

"  Men  don't  get  tired,"  said  Mr.  Swinnerton 
grandiosely,  and  he  looked  towards  me  for  applause. 
He  did  not,  however,  ask  her  to  dance,  and  Mar- 
garet moved  away  to  attend  to  other  guests. 

"  She's  a  very  nice-looking  girl,"  said  Mr.  Swin- 
205 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

nerton  approvingly,  "  and  a  well  brought-up  girl, 
too." 

So  I  suppose  it  is  still  hopeful,  as  the  Jamiesons 
would  say.  But  I  pray  that  Margaret  Jamieson  will 
remove  Mr.  Swinnerton  hence  when  she  has  married 
him. 

Kate  and  Mr.  Ward  drove  to  the  station  in  the 
best  landau  and  pair  of  horses  from  Stowel  Inn. 
Mr.  Ward  was  so  upset  from  first  to  last  by  the 
ceremonies  and  the  heat  that  his  conical-shaped 
head,  covered  with  the  dew  of  nervous  perspiration, 
steamed  like  a  kettle;  but  his  affection  for  his  bride 
and  his  evident  delight  and  pride  in  her  were  un- 
deniable, and  although  resenting  in  his  mild  way  the 
stinging  shower  of  rice  with  which  he  was  pelted 
and  the  usual  facetious  jokes  that  were  made  on 
the  bride  and  bridegroom,  Mr.  Ward  nevertheless 
beamed  with  good-nature  all  the  time. 

Palestrina  made  me  laugh  when  she  came  home 
in  the  evening.  She  had  been  down  to  the  village 
to  see  the  Pettifers  and  to  show  them  her  wedding 
finery,  as  she  promised  to  do,  for  Mrs.  Pettifer  is 
ill  in  bed  again,  and  was  unable  to  stand  at  the 
church  door  with  the  rest  of  the  crowd  to  see  the 
wedding-party.  My  sister  found  the  old  lady  weep- 
ing bitterly,  and  for  a  long  time  she  could  not  guess 

206 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

the  cause  of  her  distress,  until  at  last  a  remark  of 
her  husband's  explained  it.  "  She  do  take  on  like 
that  tur'ble  queer,"  he  said,  "  as  soon  as  ever  the 
Bedding-bells  ring  after  a  marriage  is  over." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Pettif er ;  "  I  always  say  to  my- 
self, '  she's  got  him,  and  he  ain't  disappointed  her 
after  all.' " 

Kennie  sailed  for  Buenos  Ayres  the  day  after  the 
wedding,  and  Mettle  walked  over  to  see  us,  being 
sent  on  some  errand,  I  have  no  doubt,  where  she 
would  be  more  usefully  employed  than  in  getting  in 
the  way  of  the  staff  of  workers  who  were  clearing 
up  after  yesterday's  festivities.  Mettie  brought  over 
Mrs.  Ward's  first  telegram,  received  that  morning 
from  Dover,  and  said  it  was  too  funny  to  think  of 
Kate  being  Mrs.  Ward.  "  Kate  Ward,"  she  said, 
with  one  of  her  curious  little  chirruping  laughs, 
'*  Kate  Ward,  do  look  at  it !  "  And  we  dutifully  re- 
plied that  it  certainly  seemed  the  height  of  drollery. 

Palestrina  is  not  perfectly  just  to  me  when  Mettie 
comes  to  call.  She  always  remembers  something  im- 
portant which  she  has  until  this  moment  forgotten, 
and  with  apologies  to  Mettie  she  flies  off  to  do  it, 
and  I  am  left  with  our  caller.  And  then  the  mar- 
riage question  is  in  full  swing  before  one  can  prevent 
it.  Mettie  says  she  would  never,  never  allow  a  man 

207 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

to  know  that  she  cared  for  him,  and  that  no  nice 
girl  would.  Did  I  think  that  if  a  girl  never  gave 
any  evidence  of  her  love  and  died,  that  it  would  be 
a  very  pitiful  end?  And,  of  course,  I  said  that  the 
pathos  of  the  thing  would  strike  one  directly. 

"  After  death,"  said  Mettie,  "  she  might  still  be 
his  good  angel.  It  is  very  strange,"  she  said,  "  to 
think  of  becoming  a  being  with  wings.  Do  you 
know  I  often  wonder  what  these  wings  can  be  like, 
and  I  cannot  imagine  them  made  of  anything  but 
white  ostrich  feathers,  which,  I  must  say,  would 
look  very  pretty.  ...  I  am  sure  it  is  a  brave  thing 
to  part  and  say  nothing,  but  do  you  think  that  one 
might  write?  " 

It  was  only  then,  at  that  precise  moment  that  I  in 
any  way  connected  Mettie's  remarks  with  the  thought 
of  the  Pirate  Boy,  now  a  purser  on  the Line. 

"  My  dear  Mettie,"  I  said,  "  I  should  certainly 
write  to  him — write  often,  write  affectionately,  send 
him  your  photograph,  work  him  a  housewife  for  his 
chain,  carve  him  a  frame  for  your  photograph.  I 
am  delighted " 

"  Oh !  but  nothing  is  settled  yet,"  simpered  Mettie. 

It  has  sometimes  struck  me  since,  although  one 
generally  denies  the  suggestion,  that  the  first  symp- 
toms of  love-making  may  emanate  from  the  woman's 

208 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

mind.  But  probably  the  Pirate  will  never  know  that 
it  was  not  his  own  idea  that  he  should  fall  in  love 
with  Mettie. 

This  evening  I  was  looking  over  a  lot  of  old  letters 
such  as  our  fathers  and  mothers  used  to  keep,  and 
put  away  in  drawers  with  bits  of  ribbon  tied  round 
them,  in  the  days  when  there  was  more  time  for  that 
sort  of  thing  than  there  is  now.  And  I  came  across 
the  following  letter,  written  in  ink  that  has  grown 
rather  faded,  and  dated  1845.  It  describes  a  wed- 
ding, and  I  have  saved  it  from  a  number  of  other 
letters  which  I  have  destroyed,  to  stick  it  into  my 
diary,  as  an  appropriate  sort  of  ending  to  my  entries 
for  to-day.  The  letter  is  a  genuine  one,  and  I  have 
the  original  of  it  beside  me  now. 

"  MY  DEAREST  AUNT, 

"  You  wished  to  hear  all  about  our  doings  on 
Thursday.  Though  I  daresay  you  have  heard  many 
editions  of  the  affairs  of  that  day,  I  take  the  earliest 
opportunity  of  relating  to  you,  as  I  promised,  my 
version  of  it,  though  how  often  was  it  wished  that 
dear  aunt  and  uncle  had  themselves  been  present  to 
illuminate  the  picture.  We  all  assembled  at  a  quar- 
ter past  ten  o'clock.  The  married  ladies  (and  gen- 
tlemen, whether  they  were  in  that  happy  state  or 

209 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

not)  remained  in  the  drawing-room,  till,  at  a  given 
signal,  the  bride  descended,  followed  by  her  brides- 
maids— first  Emily  and  myself,  then  Anne  and  Jane 
Schofield,  then  Anna  and  Eliza  Schofield.  The  four 
first  were  in  pink,  the  two  last  in  blue.  After  talking 
over  matters  a  little,  we  entered  our  respective  car- 
riages, mamma  going  in  the  first  carriage,  and  papa 
and  Mary  bringing  up  the  rear.  We  went  through 
the  ceremony  very  well.  Mary  responded  in  a 
perfectly  clear  and  audible  voice;  but  once  the 
worthy  bridegroom  faltered,  and  as  I  stood  next  to 
him  could  perceive  he  was  somewhat  agitated.  The 
ceremony  of  kissing  being  finished,  we  returned  from 
church,  when  numerous  and  costly  presents  were  ex- 
hibited to  the  eyes,  and  amongst  them  none  more 
beautiful  than  my  dear  uncle  and  aunt's.  But,  by 
way  of  parenthesis,  mamma  wishes  me  to  ask  you, 
as  Mary  has  two  silver  canisters,  whether  you  would 
have  any  objection  to  change  the  kind  and  elegant 
expression  of  your  feeling  for  Mary  into  a  silver 
waiter.  Knowing  your  kindness,  we  sent  it  by  Uncle 
Kelsall.  Now  to  proceed.  We  descended  to  break- 
fast— a  most  important  business,  which  occupied  us 
a  considerable  time — in  the  middle  of  which  Uncle 
Ainsworth  produced  a  bunch  of  grapes,  and  signified 
his  intention  of  drinking  Mary  Schofield's  health  in 

210 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

the  red  juice  of  the  grape.  He  immediately  ex- 
pressed the  juice  and  suited  the  action  to  the  word. 
Robert  Amcliffe  made  a  beautiful  speech — quite  a 
gem.  We  then  proceeded  to  dress  the  bride  in  travel- 
ling attire.  Then  came  the  dreadful  moment  of 
parting.  Mamma  and  papa  got  over  it  most  won- 
derfully; suffice  it  to  say  sister's  tears  flowed  most 
copiously  on  that  day.  After  her  departure,  we 
took  a  drive  to  restore  us  to  that  harmony  of  spirits 
so  desirable  when  persons  are  the  entertainers  of 
others.  We  drove  through  Hyde  Park  and  Regents 
Park  in  procession,  and  stopped  to  walk  in  the  Zoo- 
logical Gardens,  coveting  the  society  of  the  brute 
creation  as  well  as  the  rational.  We  then  returned 
to  dinner,  which  was  at  seven,  when,  to  our  indescrib- 
able horror,  on  calling  over  the  names  of  certain 
young  ladies,  we  discovered  their  toilet  was  not  com- 
plete when  dinner  was  announced.  After  a  small 
delay,  however,  the  offenders  appeared,  and  the  busi- 
ness of  dinner  was  commenced  with  astonishing  vig- 
our. There  is  no  occasion  to  describe  to  you  the 
manners  and  customs  of  a  dinner-table,  as  a  sameness 
must  naturally  pervade  all  such  employments.  We 
ladies  at  length  signified  our  intention  of  leaving  the 
gentlemen  masters  of  the  field,  and  Uncle  Jesse,  being 
a  lady,  came  out  amongst  us  and  went  to  bed.  We 

211 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

proceeded  to  enjoy  a  small  quadrille,  till  I  suppose 
the  sound  of  feet  called  the  other  portion  of  the 
community  from  below.  After  tea  and  a  little  dis- 
play of  musical  powers,  we  had  another  quadrille; 
but  this  did  not  occur  until  Emily  was  gone.  We 
finally  separated  at  half -past  eleven.  We  have  heard 
twice  or  three  times  from  the  newly-married  people. 
They  are  in  Bath  to-day.  Will  you  excuse,  my  dear 
aunt,  this  dreadful  scrawl,  but  I  have  had  so  many 
notes  to  write,  added  to  which  I  have  sprained  my 
right  arm,  which  is  now  pleading  to  be  spared  any 
further  exertions.  Hoping  that  dear  uncle  and 
yourself,  as  well  as  dear  Sarah,  are  well,  and  again 
begging  to  be  excused  this  unconnected  epistle,  With 
united  love  to  all,  Believe  me, 

"  Your  very  affectionate  niece, 

"  MARGARET  M.  TAYLOR." 

MECKI.EMBKTIG  SQUARE, 
August,  1845. 


212 


Chapter  XIV 

MY  leg,  "  my  best  leg,"  as  poor  Beau  Brummel  used 
to  say,  has  been  hurting  rather,  for  the  last  week  or 
two  o'  nights.  I  do  not  know  how  Palestrina  has 
discovered  this,  but  the  dear  little  woman  is  looking 
harassed  and  anxious,  and  she  is  trying  to  inveigle 
me  into  going  up  to  London  again,  to  get  further 
advice  from  my  doctor.  She  had  broached  the  sub- 
ject in  several  ways:  There  is  a  play  going  on  at 
present  which  she  would  much  like  to  see,  if  I  will 
be  kind  enough  to  take  her  to  Town  for  a  couple  of 
days.  Or  there  is  some  shopping  which  she  wants 
to  do,  and  she  must  have  my  advice  on  the  subject. 
I  believe  that  she  does  not  like  to  allow,  even  to 
herself,  that  I  ought  to  go  expressly  to  see  the 
surgeon,  but  she  means  to  throw  out  the  suggestion 
when  we  shall  be  in  Town  together,  and  in  this  way, 
she  has  decided,  with  her  usual  thoughtfulness,  we 
shall  be  spared  the  anticipation  of  hearing  that  I  am 
not  going  on  as  well  as  I  ought  to  be  doing.  It  is, 
however,  much  too  hot  to  think  of  going  up  to 
London,  so  for  the  present  none  of  Palestrina's  deep- 
laid  plans  have  been  successful.  It  is  broiling  hot 

213 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

weather  even  down  here  in  the  country,  but  the  morn- 
ings are  cool  and  fresh,  and  after  tossing  about  half 
the  night,  I  generally  get  up  and  go  for  a  feeble 
sort  of  walk  before  breakfast.  It  is  extraordinary 
how  new  and  fresh  the  world  feels  in  the  early  morn- 
ing, while  the  dew  is  still  on  the  grass,  and  the  birds 
are  singing  without  any  fear  that  their  concert  will 
be  stopped  or  disturbed  by  passers-by. 

On  my  way  home  this  morning  I  passed  the  Jamie- 
sons'  little  house,  and  I  was  hailed  to  come  in  by  the 
flutter  of  nearly  a  dozen  dinner-napkins,  waved  to 
me  from  the  window  of  the  breakfast-room.  It  is 
impossible  to  pass  Belmont  without  being  asked  to 
come  in,  or  to  leave  the  hospitable  little  house  without 
an  invitation  to  stay  a  little  longer.  Monday — this 
was  Monday — is  what  the  Jamiesons  call  "  one  of 
our  busiest  mornings,"  and  I  think  that  our  good 
friends  talk  almost  more  than  usual  on  the  days  on 
which  they  are  most  engaged. 

As  I  entered  the  room,  two  of  The  Family  had 
already  finished  breakfast  and  were  busy  at  a 
side-table,  driving  their  sewing-machines.  The  whir- 
ring noise,  added  to  the  amount  of  talking  that 
was  going  on,  had  rather  a  bewildering  effect  at 
first.  There  was,  besides,  the  added  confusion  at- 
tendant upon  what  is  known  as  "  getting  George  off." 

214 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

The  process  seems  to  consist  of  shaking  George  into 
his  City  coat,  brushing  it,  patting  him  on  the  back, 
telling  him  how  nice  he  looks,  hoping  he  will  get 
down  in  the  middle  of  the  week,  or  at  least  not  later 
than  Friday  afternoon,  and  giving  him  messages  and 
remembrances  to  quite  half  a  dozen  friends  in  Lon- 
don. The  Family  chorus  as  I  entered  was  something 
like  this: 

"  Cream  or  sugar,  weak  or  strong?  " 
"  Mettie,  did  you  get  your  letters  ?  " 
"  Eliza,  which  is  your  napkin-ring  ?  " 
"  Please  say  what  you  will  have,  I  have  asked  you 
at  least  half  a  dozen  times." 

"  Do  you  mind  the  window  open  ?  " 

"  Does  anyone  hear  the  'bus  ?  " 

"Toast  or  rolls?" 

"Which  is  your  napkin-ring?" 

"  Did  anyone  hear  the  rain  last  night  ?  " 

"  You    haven't    said    yet    if    you    will    have    an 

egg." 

"  Mother  is  not  well,  and  is  not  coming  down  this 
morning." 

"  Does  anyone  mind  if  we  go  on  with  our  ma- 
chines ?  " 

Over  and  above  this,  snatches  of  newspaper  were 
read,  and  numerous  directions  were  given  to  a  very 

215 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

young  servant  as  to  how  things  should  be  placed 
upon  the  table — a  proceeding  which  usually  goes  on 
at  every  one  of  the  Jamiesons'  meals — it  is  known  as 
"  training  one  of  our  village  girls." 

Gracie  and  Eliza  were  the  two  who  sat  at  the  side- 
table  before  their  whirring  sewing-machines,  their 
very  spectacles  nearly  darting  from  their  heads  with 
energy  and  speed.  George  said :  "  I  wish  one  of  you 
girls  would  mend  my  glove  before  I  start " ;  and 
Gracie  said :  "  Give  it  to  me,  I  can  spare  five  minutes 
off  lunch-time  to  get  this  finished." 

Margaret  remarked :  "  Mamma  seems  very  much 
out  of  spirits  to-day,  and  I  think  one  of  us  ought  to 
go  and  play  draughts  with  her." 

Eliza  took  out  her  watch.  "  I  can  play  draughts 
for  thirty-five  minutes,"  she  remarked — "  from 
eleven-five  to  eleven-forty — and  then  Gracie  must 
take  my  place,  as  Margaret  will  be  baking,  and  I 
have  the  soup-kitchen  accounts  to  make  up." 

"  I  did  not  anticipate  draughts  this  morning," 
said  poor  Gracie.  "  I  must  just  get  this  done  when 
I  go  to  bed."  This  is  the  last  refuge  of  the  over- 
driven, and  one  which  is  so  frequently  alluded  to  by 
the  Jamiesons  that  I  often  fear  they  deny  themselves 
the  proper  amount  of  sleep. 

George  here  kissed  each  of  his  sisters  in  turn,  and 
216 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

ran  upstairs  to  say  good-bye  to  his  mother,  while 
the  omnibus  waited  at  the  gate. 

Maud,  who  was  trimming  hats  for  the  whole  Fam- 
ily, and  who  was  surrounded  by  a  curious  medley  of 
ribbons  and  finery,  said :  "  What  about  the  Church 
Council  work?  I  am  afraid  we  have  forgotten 
it." 

"  That's  my  business,"  said  Gracie  tragically ; 
"  and  I  must  give  this  up ; "  and  she  stopped  her 
sewing-machine,  and  rolled  the  purple  cotton  pina- 
fore into  a  tight  ball  and  placed  it  on  the  table. 

"  Dear  Gracie,"  said  Margaret,  "  could  I  not  do 
it?  I  could  get  it  in  between  the  Kaffirs  and  my 
baking." 

"  I  would  offer  to  do  it,"  said  Eliza,  with  that 
affectionate  helpfulness  which  distinguishes  The 
Family,  "  only  I  am  so  full  with  soup."  Eliza  re- 
ferred to  her  soup-kitchen  accounts. 

The  small  servant  here  appeared  at  the  door,  and 
said  that  an  old  woman  wanted  to  see  Miss  Gracie. 

"  My  time !  my  time ! "  said  Gracie,  and  went  to 
the  back-door  to  give  the  last  shilling  of  her  quarter's 
dress  allowance  to  the  poor  woman  in  distress. 

"  The  worst  of  playing  draughts  is,"  said  Eliza, 
"  that  one  can  do  nothing  else  at  the  same  time, 
except  it  be  to  add  up  accounts  in  one's  head,  other- 

217 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

wise  I  should  have  been  only  too  glad.  I  tell  you 
what  I  can  do  though — I  can  play  instead  of  Gracie 
this  morning,  if  she  won't  mind  my  keeping  the  can- 
dle alight  to  do  my  Browning  article  after  I  have 
gone  to  bed." 

Mettie  always  offers  to  help  everyone,  but  so  slow 
is  the  little  woman's  way  of  working  that  the  en- 
ergetic family  of  Jamieson  are  quite  aware  that  prob- 
ably the  business  will  be  weeks  in  doing,  so  their  an- 
swers to  Mettle's  offers,  given  in  a  kindly  voice,  are 
always :  "  My  dear,  you  have  got  your  letters  to 
write,  and  your  practising — we  could  not  do  without 
your  singing  in  the  evening,  you  know." 

Mr.  Evans,  who  was  a  guest  in  the  house  for  a 
few  days,  was  smoking  his  pipe  in  a  leisurely  way 
in  the  garden,  and  Gracie  said :  "  I  really  do  feel 
that  I  ought  to  give  more  attention  to  Mr.  Evans, 
if  only  I  had  the  time  for  it.  Could  one  of  you  run 
into  the  garden  and  make  a  few  pleasant  remarks  to 
him  until  I  am  ready?  "  And  this  Eliza  does,  first 
glancing  at  her  watch  in  the  characteristic  Jamieson 
fashion,  and  coming  in  presently  to  say  that  she  had 
sat  "  for  ten  solid  minutes  doing  nothing,  and  that 
she  does  wish  men  had  more  resources  of  their 
own." 

It  would  have  been  useless  to  suggest  that  the  work 
218 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

should  stop  for  a  whole  summer  day.  A  child  came 
in  with  some  flowers  as  an  offering  to  the  Miss  Jamie- 
sons,  and  Eliza  said :  "  Would  you  mind  putting 
them  down  somewhere,  my  dear?  I  will  try  to  get  a 
minute  to  arrange  them  by-and-by."  And  then  the 
machines  began  again,  and  I  walked  on  homewards, 
and  enjoyed  a  long,  hot  morning  in  the  garden  with 
a  book.  The  book  is  a  little,  old-fashioned  calf- 
bound  one,  which  I  found  in  the  library  the  other 
day ;  it  is  called  "  A  Father's  Legacy  to  His  Daugh- 
ters," by  Dr.  Gregory,  of  Edinburgh.  Here  is  an 
extract  from  it  which  I  rather  liked: 

"  Your  mother  was  educated  in  the  Church  of 
England,  and  had  an  attachment  to  it,  and  I  had  a 
prejudice  in  favour  of  everything  she  liked.  It  never 
was  her  desire  that  you  should  be  baptized  by  a 
clergyman  of  the  Church  of  England,  or  be  educated 
in  that  Church.  On  the  contrary,  the  delicacy  of 
her  regard  for  the  smallest  circumstance  that  could 
affect  me  in  the  eye  of  the  world  made  her  anxiously 
insist  that  it  should  be  otherwise.  But  I  could  not 
yield  to  her  in  that  kind  generosity ;  when  I  lost  her 
I  became  still  more  determined  to  educate  you  in 
that  Church,  as  I  feel  a  secret  pleasure  in  doing 
everything  that  appears  to  me  to  express  my  affec- 
tion and  veneration  for  her  memory." 

219 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

And  continuing  one's  reading,  one  is  never  dis- 
appointed in  the  old  doctor,  into  whose  character 
these  letters  give  us  glimpses.  Always  one  sees  the 
kindly  old  Scot,  simple-hearted,  broad-minded,  and 
dignified.  Allowing  for  the  prejudices  of  more  than 
one  hundred  years  ago,  one  enjoys  what  he  says 
about  women :  "  We  naturally  associate  the  idea  of 
feminine  softness  and  delicacy  with  a  corresponding 
delicacy  of  constitution,  so  that  when  a  woman 
speaks  of  her  great  strength,  her  extraordinary  ap- 
petite, or  her  ability  to  bear  excessive  fatigue,  we 
recoil  at  the  description  in  a  way  she  is  little  aware 
of." 

"  There  is  a  species  of  refinement  in  luxury  just 
beginning  to  prevail  among  the  gentlemen  of  this 
country  to  which  our  ladies  are  as  yet  as  great 
strangers  as  any  women  upon  earth.  I  hope  for  the 
honour  of  the  sex  they  may  ever  continue  so — I  mean 
the  luxury  of  eating.  It  is  beyond  expression  in- 
delicate and  disgusting." 

And,  withal,  the  doctor  is  a  stickler  for  women's 
rights.  And  he  shows  a  certain  shrewdness  in  his 
advice  to  his  daughters  in  their  treatment  of  the 
sterner  sex :  "  If  you  love  a  gentleman,"  he  says,  "  let 
me  advise  you  never  to  discover  to  him  the  full  ex- 
tent of  your  love — no,  not  although  you  marry  him. 

220 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

And  Heaven  forbid  that  you  should  ever  forego  the 
ease  of  independence  to  become  the  slaves  of  a  fool's 
or  of  a  tyrant's  caprice ! " 

So  much  for  Doctor  Gregory,  father  of  the  famous 
doctor  of  that  name,  and  grandfather,  therefore,  of 
Doctor  Gregory's  powder.  Surely  King  Herod  him- 
self was  not  more  truly  the  children's  enemy  than 
he!  Gregory's  powder,  red  and  thick,  in  a  wine- 
glass, with  a  penny  laid  on  the  table  beside  it,  to  be 
ours  if  we  took  the  nauseous  mixture  "  like  a  lamb." 
What  child  of  the  old  stern  period — the  period  of 
porridge  and  milk,  and  eight  or  ten  brothers  and 
sisters — has  not  gone  through  the  experience  of  con- 
templating that  penny  and  that  glass  of  powder, 
and  considering  gravely  whether  the  reward  at  all 
compensated  for  the  anguish  of  that  horrible  taste, 
and  whether  there  would  be  any  hope  of  getting  off 
altogether  if  he  were  boldly  to  choose  poverty  and 
immunity  from  suffering. 

The  garden  was  very  shady  and  pleasant,  and  one 
thought  regretfully  of  the  Jamiesons  sitting  indoors 
with  their  sewing-machines.  Palestrina  came  out 
presently  in  a  gray  dress,  very  soft  and  cool-looking, 
and  a  big  sunshade  over  her  head.  She  sat  down 
beside  me,  and  said  in  an  off-hand  way  and  a  deter- 
mination to  be  congratulatory  which  was  very  sus- 

221 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

picious :  "  I  have  got  a  pressing  invitation  for  you." 
And  she  handed  me  a  letter  from  Kate  Ward. 

Mrs.  Ward  wrote  upon  the  almost  immaculate  note- 
paper  which  is  affected  by  brides.  I  have  often 
noticed  that  this  superfine  quality  of  paper  is  one  of 
the  first  extravagances  of  young  married  life,  as  it  is 
one  of  the  first  economies  at  a  later  date,  and  a  little 
judgment  will  soon  show  how  long  a  woman  has 
been  married  by  merely  looking  at  her  notepaper. 
Cream-laid,  with  a  gold  address  at  the  top,  bespeaks 
the  early  days  of  matrimony,  and  a  descent  through 
white  stamping,  no  stamping,  Hieratica  to  Silurian 
note,  marks  the  different  stages  of  the  rolling  years. 

Kate  said  (on  the  best  Court  note)  that  she  would 
never  forgive  us  if  we  did  not  come  and  see  her  in 
her  new  home.  James  had  been  generous  in  the  ex- 
treme, and  they  had  bought  everything  plain  but 
good  for  the  house.  And  the  whole  expense  of  it 
had  been  covered  by  exactly  the  sum  of  money  that 
they  laid  by  for  the  purpose.  Kate  continued :  "  But 
I  will  not  bore  you  with  a  description  of  the  house, 
for  I  want  you  to  see  it  for  yourselves,"  and  then 
entered  upon  the  usual  Jamieson  descriptive  cata- 
logue of  every  piece  of  furniture  and  every  wall- 
paper which  she  had  purchased. 

I  handed  the  letter  back  to  Palestrina,  who  was 
222 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

sitting  in  an  exaggerated  attitude  of  ease  and  in- 
difference on  the  edge  of  my  deck-chair,  and  said 
to  her:  "Why  leave  Paradise?  London  will  be 
atrocious  in  this  hot  weather,  and  I  believe  it  would 
be  tempting  Providence  to  quit  this  garden." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  will  give  great  disappointment  to 
Kate  if  we  do  not  go,"  said  Palestrina,  in  a  tone  of 
voice  which  suggested  that  she  had  been  prepared 
for  opposition,  and  had  rehearsed  her  own  arguments 
beforehand.  "  After  all,  she  lives  in  the  suburbs,  and 
has  a  garden  of  her  own,  and  we  need  not  stay  more 
than  two  or  three  days." 

61  We  shall  have  to  do  so  much  admiring,"  I  said, 
smothering  a  yawn.  "  I  know  what  brides  are !  You, 
Palestrina,  probably  know  exactly  the  right  thing  to 
say  about  newly  laid  linoleum  and  furniture  which  is 
plain,  but  good.  But  I  never  do." 

"  I  think  I  should  like  to  go,"  said  Palestrina, 
putting  the  matter  upon  personal  grounds,  as  I  knew 
she  would  when  she  had  entirely  made  up  her  mind 
that  I  must  go  up  to  London.  What  pressure  she 
had  brought  to  bear  upon  Mrs.  Ward  to  induce  her 
to  invite  us  to  the  new  house  I  cannot  say,  but 
some  instinct  told  me  that  Kate  had  been  warned 
to  write  a  letter  which  might  be  handed  to  me  to 
read. 

223 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

I  pointed  out  to  Palestrina  that,  much  as  I  should 
miss  her  at  home,  I  should  not  stand  in  the  way  of 
her  paying  a  visit  to  her  old  friend. 

"  I  have  accepted  for  us  both  from  Thursday  to 
Tuesday,"  said  Palestrina  firmly.  "  Oh,  by-the-by," 
she  said,  rising  and  going  indoors,  "  I  just  sent  a 
line  to  Dr.  Fergus  at  the  same  time  to  say  that  you 
would  look  in  and  see  him  one  morning,  just  to  see 
that  you  are  going  on  all  right." 

"  You  also  were  up  early  ?  "  I  said  to  the  diplomat, 
who  smiled  at  me  from  under  her  big  umbrella 
without  a  vestige  of  shame  at  her  own  cunning. 
"  I  don't  think  it  is  fair  on  a  crippled  man  to  get  up 
early  and  send  off  letters  by  the  early  post.  It's  a 
mean  trick." 

"  You  were  up  half  the  night,"  said  Palestrina, 
nodding  her  head  at  me,  "  for  I  heard  you."  And 
she  crossed  the  lawn  and  went  indoors  again. 

The  following  Thursday  we  took  train  for  Clark- 
ham.  I  have  never  stayed  in  this  part  of  the  world 
before  till  we  came  to  visit  Kate,  and  the  suburb 
where  she  lived  seemed  to  me  to  be  rather  a  pleas- 
ant place,  with  broad  roads  over  whose  walls  and 
palings  shrubs  and  red  maples  and  other  trees 
hang  invitingly.  And  it  is  so  near  London  that  a 
very  short  run  in  the  train  takes  one  to  Victoria 

224 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

Station.  But  the  neighbourhood  is  not  fashionable, 
and  I  could  not  help  remarking  the  apologetic 
tone  in  which  everyone  we  met  spoke  of  living 
there. 

The  Wards'  house  is  a  very  nice  little  place,  with 
very  new  wall-papers  and  very  clean  curtains  and 
slippery  floors,  upon  which  art  rugs  slide  danger- 
ously. There  is  a  small  garden  with  a  lawn  and  a 
brown  hawthorn  tree  upon  it,  and  there  are  two  trim 
little  maids  who  wait  upon  one  excellently  well.  Kate 
is  a  thorough  good  manager,  and  her  whole  household 
reminds  one  of  those  pages  on  household  manage- 
ment which  one  sees  in  magazines,  describing  the 
perfect  equipment  of  a  house — its  management  and 
the  rules  to  be  observed  by  a  young  housekeeper. 

There  is  a  place  for  everything,  and  Kate  says  her 
wedding-presents  are  a  great  assistance  in  giving  a 
homely  look  to  the  house. 

Mr.  Ward  leaves  home  at  half-past  nine  every 
morning,  and  Kate  shakes  him  into  his  coat  in 
exactly  the  same  way  George  used  to  be  shaken  into 
his,  and  stands  at  the  hall-door  with  a  bright  smile 
on  her  face,  until  James  has  got  into  the  morning 
'bus  and  driven  away,  in  a  manner  that  is  very 
wifely  and  commendable. 

The  unpretentious  little  household  seems  to  be  a 
225 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

very  happy  one,  and  Kate  was  quite  satisfied  with  the 
praise  which  Palestrina  bestowed  upon  everything. 
"  Of  course,"  she  said,  "  the  great  drawback  is  that 
the  place  is  so  unfashionable ; "  and  we  warmly  pro- 
tested against  that  mattering  in  the  very  least.  But 
Kate  said,  with  her  usual  common  sense :  "  It  does 
matter,  really.  No  one  thinks  anything  of  you  if 
you  live  here,  and  nearly  everyone  who  has  enough 
money  always  leaves  directly.  Still" — cheerfully — 
"  one  must  expect  some  drawbacks,  and  I  do  think  I 
have  been  very  lucky.  James  is  goodness  itself, 
.  .  .  and  quite  a  number  of  people  have  been  to 
call." 

We  found  to  our  dismay  that  Kate  had,  with  the 
laudable  intention  of  amusing  us,  accepted  several 
invitations  to  what  are  called  "  the  last  of  the  summer 
gaieties."  There  were  tea-parties  and  garden-par- 
ties given  by  her  neighbours,  to  which  we  were  ex- 
pected to  go,  and  her  very  nearest  neighbours,  who 
are  generally  known  as  the  "  Next  Doors,"  actually 
invited  us  to  dine. 

"  This  afternoon,"  Kate  said,  "  is  the  day  of  the 
Finlaysons'  garden-party.  They  are  frightfully 
rich  people — ironmongers  in  the  city ;  but  you  never 
saw  such  greenhouses  and  gardens  as  they  have  got ! 
Do  put  on  your  best  dress,"  she  said  to  Palestrina, 

226 


A   Lame   Dog's    Diary 

"  and  look  nice ;  people  here  seem  to  dress  so  smartly 
for  this  sort  of  thing." 

I  think,  indeed,  it  was  the  very  grandest  party  to 
which  I  have  ever  had  an  invitation.  Everyone 
seemed  to  sail  about  in  a  most  stately  fashion,  in  a 
gown  of  some  rich  stuff,  and  there  was  such  an  air 
of  magnificence  about  the  whole  thing  that  one 
hardly  dared  to  speak  above  a  whisper.  There  was 
a  marquee  on  the  lawn,  with  most  expensive  refresh- 
ments inside,  and  a  great  many  waiters  handing  about 
things  on  trays.  Mrs.  Finlayson  spoke  habitually 
— at  least,  at  parties — in  an  exalted  tone  of  voice, 
which  one  wondered  if  she  used  when,  for  instance, 
she  was  adding  up  accounts  or  saying  her  prayers. 
It  was  difficult  to  imagine  that  the  voice  could  have 
been  intended  for  private  use — it  was  such  a  very 
public,  almost  a  platform,  voice,  and  the  accent  was 
most  finished  and  aristocratic. 

The  Miss  Finlaysons,  in  exquisite  blue  dresses  and 
very  thin  shoes,  also  sailed  about  and  shook  hands 
with  their  guests,  in  a  cold,  proud  way  which  was 
very  effective.  Young  Finlayson  was  frankly  super- 
cilious and  condescending;  his  manners  left  much  to 
be  desired,  and  there  was  a  schoolboy  in  a  tall  hat 
who  was  always  alluded  to  as  "  our  brother  at  Eton." 
The  excellent  old  papa  of  the  firm  of  Finlayson  & 

227 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

Merritt  was  really  the  most  human  and  the  least 
alarming  of  the  whole  party.  He  seemed  quite 
pleased  when  Palestrina,  in  her  soft,  gurgling  way, 
admired  his  greenhouses  and  peaches,  and  he  led 
her  back  to  where  his  lady  ("  wife  "  is  too  homely  a 
term)  was  standing  in  a  throne-room  attitude  on  the 
lawn,  and  remarked  genially :  "  This  young  lady  has 
just  been  admiring  our  little  place,  Lavinia."  "  In- 
deed," said  my  sister,  "  it  seems  to  me  very  charming, 
and " 

"  Hush,  hush ! "  said  Mrs.  Finlayson  playfully, 
but  with  an  undercurrent  of  annoyance  in  her  party 
voice :  "  I  won't  hear  a  word  said  in  its  praise — it  is 
just  a  step  to  the  West  End." 

"  What  is  the  actual  distance,"  I  began. 

It  was  old  Finlayson  who  rescued  me  from  my 
dilemma,  and  explained  that  until  five  years  ago  they 
had  had  a  very  tidy  little  'ouse  at  'amstead,  and 
that  this  present  location,  although  so  magnificent, 
was,  in  the  eyes  of  his  lady,  really  a  stepping- 
stone  to  further  grandeur  and  a  more  fashionable 
locality. 

The  "  Next  Doors  "  were  introduced  to  us  at  this 
party,  and  we  were  much  struck  by  the  fact  that, 
although  they  seemed  appropriately  lodged  in  a  place 
well  suited  to  them,  and  in  a  society  certainly  not 

228 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

inferior  to  themselves,  they,  too,  instantly  began  to 
apologize  for  living  at  Clarkham. 

"  One  feels  so  lost  in  a  place  like  this,"  said  Mrs. 
Next  Door,  "  and  although  the  boys  are  so  happy 
with  their  tennis  and  things  on  Saturday  afternoons, 
I  cannot  help  feeling  that  it  is  a  great  drawback  to 
the  girls." 

A  band  began  to  play  under  the  trees,  and  Pales- 
trina  said  to  me,  with  one  of  her  low  laughs :  "  I 
wonder  if  I  shall  begin  to  sail  about  soon?  Isn't  it 
funny!  They  all  do  it,  and  now  that  the  band  has 
begun  I  feel  that  I  must  do  it,  too." 

The  Miss  Finlaysons  came  up  at  intervals  and 
introduced  young  men  to  her,  in  a  spasmodic  sort  of 
way.  When  one  least  expected  it,  someone  in  a  tall 
hat  and  long  frock-coat  was  placed  before  Pales- 
trina,  and  a  Miss  Finlayson  said,  quite  sharply: 

"  May  I  introduce — Mr.   Smith "  and  then  as 

suddenly  retired.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
make  a  little  tepid  conversation  to  the  various  Mr. 
Smiths,  and  Sonnenscheins,  and  Seligmanns  who 
were  in  this  way  presented,  and  we  noticed  that 
almost  every  one  of  them  began  his  conversation  by 
saying,  "  Been  going  out  a  great  deal  lately?  Done 
the  Academy?  "  And  then  moved  off  to  be  intro- 
duced to  someone  else. 

229 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

The  young  men  were  very  supercilious  and  grand, 
and  we  could  only  account  for  it,  on  discussing  the 
matter  afterwards,  by  supposing  that  they  thought 
Palestrina  was  a  Clarkham  young  lady,  and  that  this 
was  their  way  of  showing  their  superiority  to  her. 
One  or  two  had  certainly  said  to  us  with  a  dubious 
air,  "  Do  you  live  in  the  Pork?  "  But  it  was  not 
until  the  quieter  moments  that  followed  the  stress  of 
this  regal  party  that  we  at  all  realized  that  this 
meant  did  we  live  in  Clarkham  Park. 

Kate  Ward  was  very  agreeable  and  pleasant  to 
everyone,  and  was  voted  a  nobody  directly,  and  we 
heard  it  remarked  that  she  had  "  no  style."  I  think 
Kate  must  have  overheard  the  remark,  for  she  be- 
came a  little  nervous  towards  the  end  of  the  after- 
noon, and  presently  said :  "  Perhaps  we  ought  to  be 
going?  "  But  young  Finlayson  was  here  suddenly 
introduced  to  her  by  one  of  his  sisters,  and  Kate 
thought  it  necessary  to  make  a  few  remarks  before 
saying  good-bye.  She  said  something  pretty  about 
his  sisters,  who  are  undoubtedly  handsome  girls,  and 
Mr.  Finlayson  said  bitterly :  "  Yes,  a  good  many  so- 
called  beauties  in  London  would  have  to  shut 
up  shop  if  my  sisters  appeared  in  the  Row.  It 
is  a  beastly  shame  they  have  got  to  live  down 
here!" 

230 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

Kate  said :  "  But  I  suppose  they  go  to  Town  oc- 
casionally ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Finlayson ;  "  but  they  ought  to 
have  their  Park  hacks,  and  do  things  in  style.  It  is 
a  shame  the  governor  does  not  take  a  house  in  the 
West  End." 

My  sister  tried  to  look  sympathetic. 

"  However,"  said  Mr.  Finlayson  more  hopefully, 
"  we  have  taken  a  bit  of  a  shoot  in  Scotland  this 
year,  so  I  hope  the  girls  will  have  some  society. 
Well,  it  is  a  deer  forest  really,  and  a  very  fine  house 
and  grounds,"  amended  Mr.  Finlayson,  with  a  burst 
of  candour. 

Mrs.  Finlayson  sailed  up,  and  stooped  to  make  a 
few  remarks  about  the  gaiety  of  the  past  season  to 
us.  She  said  that  she  and  her  daughters  were  in 
demand  everywhere,  and  that  the  other  night  in  a 
West  End  theatre  every  lorgnette  in  the  house  was 
turned  towards  their  box.  "  Rupert,  of  course,  has 
his  own  chambers  in  St.  James's,  and  knows  every- 
one." 

The  Miss  Finlaysons  shook  hands,  and  said  good- 
bye with  their  usual  lofty  condescension,  and  each 
said,  "  Going  on  anywhere?  "  to  which  we  could  only 
reply  humbly  that  we  had  no  further  engagements 
for  that  afternoon. 

231 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

Kate  praised  the  party  all  the  way  home,  and 
then  said,  with  a  burst  of  feeling:  "Oh,  how  I  do 
wish  I  were  a  swell!  I  know  it's  wicked,  but  I 
would  snub  one  or  two  people." 

The  next  morning,  being  Sunday,  we  went  to 
church,  and  the  feeling  of  equality  with  the  rest  of 
mankind  which  this  gives  one  was  very  refreshing 
after  the  magnificence  and  social  distinctions  about 
which  we  had  been  learning  so  much  during  the  last 
few  days.  But  even  in  church  one  may  notice 
how  superior  some  familes  in  Clarkham  are  to 
others. 

The  pew-letting  of  the  church  seems  to  have  been 
conducted  on  principles  other  than  those  recom- 
mended in  Holy  Writ.  Richer  folk,  those  with  gold 
,chains,  for  whom  we  learn  precedence  should  not  be 
accorded,  occupied  the  front  pews,  which  were 
furnished  with  red  cushions  and  Prayer-Books  with 
silver  corners,  while  the  humbler  sort  were  accom- 
modated with  seats  under  the  gallery.  The  Finlay- 
sons  sailed  in  rather  late,  with  a  rustle  of  their  smart 
dresses,  and  kneeled  to  pray  on  very  high  hassocks, 
their  elbows  just  touching  the  book-board  in  front 
of  them,  their  faces  inadequately  covered  with  their 
tightly-gloved  hands.  The  "  Next  Doors  "  had  a 
pew  half-way  up  the  middle  aisle.  The  day  was  hot, 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

and  the  clergyman,  a  small  devout-looking  man,  very 
earnest,  and  really  eloquent,  was  guilty  sometimes 
in  moments  of  excitement  of  dropping  aitches. 
This,  of  course,  may  have  been  the  result  of  the  hot 
weather.  It  was  something  of  a  shock  to  notice 
that  the  little  "  Next  Doors  " — terrible  children,  of 
high  spirits  and  pugnacious  dispositions — were  al- 
lowed to  giggle  unreproved  at  each  omission  of  the 
aspirate  on  the  part  of  the  preacher.  The  "  Next 
Doors  "  overtook  us  on  our  way  out  of  church,  and 
two  of  the  pugnacious  children,  having  dug  each 
other  with  their  elbows,  and  fought  round  me  for 
permission  to  walk  home  with  me  and  talk  about  the 
war,  threw  light  upon  their  behaviour  in  church  by 
remarking  with  smiling  self-satisfaction,  "  Papa  says 
we  ought  always  to  giggle  when  Mr.  Elliot  drops 
his  aitches,  to  show  that  we  know  better.  ..,  ..;  ..." 
Little  brutes ! 

We  spent  a  lazy  afternoon  under  the  brown  haw- 
thorn tree  on  the  little  lawn,  and  Thomas  drove 
down  to  see  Palestrina,  and  good  Kate  Ward  put 
forth  her  very  best  efforts  to  give  us  a  sumptuous 
cold  supper.  We  found,  to  our  surprise,  that  night- 
ingales sing  down  here,  and  we  sat  on  the  lawn 
till  quite  late  listening  to  them.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Ward  slipped  their  hands  into  one  another's  in  the 

233 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

dark,   and   appeared   to   be   most  happy   and   con- 
tented. 

"  I  am  glad  we  came,"  said  Palestrina,  that  night 
when  Mrs.  Ward  had  quitted  the  room.  "  Dear  old 
Kate!" 


234 


Chapter  XV 

ON  Monday  I  went  to  see  Dr.  Fergus  about  my  leg, 
and  did  not  get  a  very  good  report  of  it. 

We  returned  from  Clarkham  on  one  of  the  hottest 
days  I  ever  remember,  and  found  Mrs.  Fielden  wait- 
ing for  us  in  the  hall. 

"  Everyone  seems  to  have  come  over  to  hear  about 
your  London  visit,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden  lightly,  "  for 
I  found  Mr.  Ellicomb  and  Maud  Jamieson  here  when 
I  came  in."  She  began  pouring  out  tea  for  us  both 
as  she  spoke,  and  she  signalled  something  to  Pales- 
trina,  who  replied,  as  she  stooped  down  to  cut  some 
cake :  "  Another  operation — yes,  four  or  five  weeks 
in  bed  at  least." 

"  I  sent  Maud  and  Mr.  Ellicomb  home  together," 
said  Mrs.  Fielden,  raising  her  voice  and  laughing. 
"  He,  poor  man,  is  in  a  great  state  of  mental  per- 
turbation, for  it  seems  that  he  has  heard  that  in 
South  Africa  pigs  are  fed  upon  arum  lilies,  and  that 
so  delicate  is  the  flesh  of  the  pork  thus  produced 
that  some  flower-growers  in  the  Channel  Isles  are 
cultivating  arum  lilies  for  the  purpose  of  feeding 

235 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

pigs  and  to  produce  the  same  delicious  pork.  He 
was  so  agitated  that  he  got  up  from  his  chair  and 
walked  up  and  down  the  room,  repeating  over  and 
over  again :  "  Arum-fed  pork !  Monstrous,  mon- 
strous ! "  I  really  did  not  know  how  to  comfort  him, 
so  I  sent  him  home  with  Maud  Jamieson,  which 
seemed  to  please  him  very  much." 

"  And  you,"  I  said,  following  the  Jamieson  tram 
of  thought,  "  have  been  saying  to  yourself  ever  since, 
'  Is  there  anything  in  it?  ' 

"  She  certainly  had  a  soothing  effect  upon  him," 
said  Mrs.  Fielden. 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  the  second  stage  has  been 
reached.  When  all  the  Jamiesons  are  married  I 
think  I  shall  feel  that  romance  is  over." 

"  I  know  they  have  been  to  tea  at  the  farm,"  said 
Mrs.  Fielden,  "  because  Mr.  Ellicomb  talked  so  much 
about  his  blue  china,  and  Maud  said  a  woman's  hand 
was  needed  in  the  house." 

"  I  wonder,"  I  said,  "  what  will  be  the  special 
objection  that  Maud  will  raise  when  she  becomes  en- 
gaged to  Mr.  Ellicomb  ?  He  is  not  called  Albert ;  he 
does  not  wear  a  white  watered-silk  waistcoat;  his 
hair  is  certainly  his  own ;  and  his  mother  is  dead.  It 
cannot  be  said  that  he  too  closely  resembles  her." 
One  of  the  objections  raised  by  Maud  to  a  candidate 

236 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

for  her  hand  was  that  he  was  far  too  like  his  mother 
— a  really  delightful  woman — but  Maud  declared, 
with  tears,  that  she  could  never  really  look  up  to  a 
man  who  was  so  like  his  mamma. 

"  At  present,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  "  the  blue  china 
seems  to  be  all  in  his  favour;  but  one  cannot  feel 
sure  that  it  will  not  be  an  obstacle  later  on,  or  Mr. 
Ellicomb's  High  Church  principles,  perhaps,  may 
prove  a  deterrent  to  her  ideas  of  perfect  happi- 
ness." 

"  I  wish,"  said  Palestrina,  "  that  Margaret's  af- 
fairs were  more  settled.  This  summer  has  been  a 
trying  one  for  her." 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden, 
"  that  that  was  one  of  Maud's  reasons  for  coming 
over  to  see  you.  She  told  me  that  Mr.  Swinnerton 
is  coming  to  pay  them  a  visit.  He  has  written,  it 
seems,  to  make  the  offer  himself,  and  Maud  says  she 
thinks  it  will  be  all  right  now." 

Mrs.  Fielden  was  in  one  of  her  most  light-hearted 
moods  this  afternoon.  There  were  no  odd  little  si- 
lences. After  the  heat  of  the  day  there  came  a  de- 
lightful coolness,  and  she  stayed  chatting  till  nearly 
dinner-time,  and  then  decided  that  she  would  remain 
to  dinner  if  we  were  to  ask  her  to  do  so. 

"  I  have  three  dear  old  sisters-in-law  staying  with 
237 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

me,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  "  and  they  will  doubtless 
drag  all  the  ponds  for  my  body." 

"  Won't  they  be  anxious  about  you  ?  "  asked  Pales- 
trina. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden,  raising  her  pretty 
eyebrows  in  the  old  affected  way ;  "  but  then  they 
will  appreciate  me  so  much  more  when  I  come  back 
to  them  from  the  grave." 

We  sat  out  on  the  lawn  after  dinner  till  it  was 
quite  dark,  and  only  Mrs.  Fielden's  white  dress  was 
visible  in  the  gloom.  For  some  reason,  best  known 
to  herself,  she  put  off  her  wilful  moods  out  there  in 
the  gloom  of  the  garden.  She  was  not  regal,  not  even 
amusing,  only  charming  and  full  of  a  lovely  kindness. 
Half  the  conversation  between  her  and  Palestrina 
began  with  the  words,  "  Do  you  remember?  "  as  they 
recalled  old  jokes  and  stories.  Then  the  woman's 
ever-present  gaiety  broke  out  again,  and  she  laughed 
in  a  girlish  sort  of  way  (she  is  not  much  more  than 
a  girl  still) ,  and  said :  "  I  believe  I  am  becoming 
reminiscent?  Why  doesn't  someone  sit  upon  me, 
or  tell  me  they  will  order  the  carriage  for  me,  if  I 
really  must  go?  But  it  is  heavenly  here  in  the  cool; 
and  in  heaven,  you  know,  we  shall  probably  all  be 
reminiscent." 

Ten  o'clock  struck  from  the  tower  of  the  church 
238 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

down  below  in  the  village,  and  Mrs.  Fielden  said 
that  now  she  really  must  go,  or  she  would  find  the 
sisters-in-law  saying  a  Requiem  Mass  for  her,  and 
Palestrina  went  indoors  to  order  the  carriage. 

"  To-morrow,"  I  said,  "  I  am  going  to  have  my  last 
dissipation.  I  am  going  to  the  Traceys'  tea-party." 

"  I  am  certainly  going  too,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden. 
"  I  believe  I  am  getting  as  gay  as  the  Miss  Traceys 
themselves,  though  I  can't  help  remarking  that  no 
one  who  goes  to  these  tea-parties  ever  seems  to  be 
amused  when  they  get  there." 

"  Judging  from  my  own  standard  of  what  I  find 
amusing,"  I  said,  "  I  should  be  inclined  to  say  that 
Stowel  never  enjoys  itself  extravagantly.  Our 
neighbours  never  refuse  invitations  to  even  the 
smallest  party;  but  the  pleasure  that  they  get  from 
them,  if  it  exists  at  all,  is  carefully  concealed." 

"  I  have  felt  that  myself,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden.  "  I 
really  don't  begin  to  enjoy  them  till  I  get  home." 

"  I  believe  you  always  enjoy  yourself,"  I  said 
resentfully. 

After  a  little  time  Mrs.  Fielden  said  wistfully: 
"  You  don't  think  there  is  only  a  certain  amount 
of  happiness  in  the  world,  do  you,  Hugo?  And  that 
if  one  person  gets  a  great  deal  it  means  that  another 
will  get  less  ?  " 

239 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

She  asks  one  questions  in  this  way  sometimes  as 
though  one  were  a  superior  being,  who  could  dispel 
her  perplexities  for  her.  "  Probably,"  I  said,  "  you 
know  ten  thousand  times  more  about  the  subject 
than  I  do.  You  are  happy,  and  I  philosophize  about 
it.  Tell  me  which  of  us  is  most  fitted  to  give  a 
lecture  on  the  subject?  " 

I  thought  Mrs.  Fielden  was  going  to  say  some- 
thing after  that,  for  she  stretched  out  her  hand  in  a 
certain  impulsive  way  she  has  got,  and  gave  mine 
just  one  moment's  friendly  pressure  in  the  dark. 
And  then  Palestrina  came  back  to  say  the  carriage 
was  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Fielden  said  "  Good- 
night." % 

I  remember  two  things  about  the  Miss  Traceys' 
party — first,  that  Mrs.  Fielden  was  not  there,  for 
one  of  the  old  sisters-in-law  was  ill  suddenly,  and 
she  could  not  leave  her;  and  the  other  thing  I  re- 
member about  it  is  that  it  was  the  last  occasion 
on  which  I  ever  saw  Margaret  Jamieson  look  pretty. 

There  have  been  some  strange  innovations  in  tea- 
parties  ever  since  Mrs.  Taylor  gave  hers  to  meet 
The  Uncle,  Sir  John,  and  sent  out  visiting-cards 
instead  of  notes.  Instead  of  having  tea  in  the 
dining-room,  all  sitting  round  the  table,  as  used  to 

240 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

be  the  custom,  it  seems  that  dressing-tables  are 
most  often  brought  down  from  upstairs  and  extended 
across  the  window.  These  are  covered  with  white 
tablecloths,  and  behind  them  two  maids  stand  and 
wait.  The  dressing-tables  are  called  the  "  buffet," 
and  both  tea  and  coffee  are  provided,  suggesting  the 
elegance  and  savour  of  London  refreshments,  which 
is  distinctly  pleasing,  though  it  is  felt  that  a  single 
cup  of  tea  partaken  while  standing  has  not  got 
the  comfort  of  former  old-fashioned  days.  Miss 
Belinda  lives  on  at  the  little  cottage  with  the  green 
gate;  and  through  the  kindness  of  the  General  a 
lady  has  been  found  to  wait  upon  her,  and  take  her 
out  to  these  small  gaieties  which  she  loves,  and  she 
sits  shaking  her  poor,  weak  head,  and  muttering, 
"  Glory,  glory,  glory !  "  It  does  not  occur  to  her  to 
stay  at  home  during  her  period  of  mourning,  and  it 
is  acknowledged  on  all  sides  that  she  does  not  miss 
Lydia  much.  (Poor  Lydia!  And,  really,  she  sacri- 
ficed everything  to  her  sister!)  The  General  has 
not  come  to  stay  with  the  Taylors  again.  In  a  long 
letter  which  he  wrote  to  me  after  he  left  he  said  he 
would  probably  never  come  back  to  the  place,  and 
at  the  same  time  he  thanked  me  in  courteous,  old- 
fashioned  phraseology  for  being  with  him  through 
what  he  called  "  one  of  the  dark  days  that  come 

241 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

sometimes."  He  would  never  see  Miss  Belinda,  in 
spite  of  the  many  kind  things  he  did  for  her;  and  I 
always  feel  that  he  resented  the  poor  creature's  long 
illness  and  weak,  silly  ways,  which  was  only  natural, 
no  doubt. 

The  Vicar  was  present  at  his  sisters'  tea-party,  of 
course,  although,  as  Miss  Ruby  explained  to  me,  "  it 
is  not  as  though  this  were  an  evening  entertainment. 
My  sister  and  I  often  give  these  little  routs  without 
him.  Still,  a  gentleman  is  always  something  of  an 
ornament  at  a  party."  There  were  seven  Jamiesons 
present,  and  two  of  them,  Margaret  and  Maud, 
offered  in  their  usual  friendly  way  to  walk  home  with 
Palestrina  and  me.  Maud,  one  feels  sure,  engaged 
Palestrina  in  confidences  directly;  and  Margaret 
whispered  in  a  shy  way  to  me :  "  Do  you  mind 
coming  round  by  the  postoffice?  I  am  expecting  a 
letter."  So  we  walked  round  by  the  High  Street, 
and  Margaret  told  me  that  Tudor  had  had  to  give 
up  his  visit  to  them,  but  that  he  was  writing. 

So  we  went  into  the  postoffice,  and  Margaret 
had  her  letter  handed  to  her  across  the  counter  by 
the  post-mistress,  upon  whom  she  bestowed  a  radiant 
smile.  When  we  got  outside  she  opened  it  and 
read  it  without  a  word,  and  then,  quite  suddenly, 
she  gave  a  cry  as  though  someone  had  struck  her, 

242 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

and  she  handed  the  letter  to  me,  and  said :     "  Oh, 
Hugo,  read  it !  "    And  I  read : 

"  I  am  sure  you  will  be  surprised  when  I  tell  you 
that  I  am  going  to  be  married;  it  will  explain  to 
you  why  it  was  that  I  was  unable  to  fulfil  my 
promise  to  come  to  see  you.  But  sudden  though 
my  engagement  to  Miss  Lloyd  has  been — very  sud- 
den, much  more  sudden,  indeed,  than  I  ever  felt 
that  such  a  serious  step  as  marriage  would  be  under- 
taken by  me — I  cannot  but  feel  that  it  is  for  my 
happiness.  Some  day  I  hope  you  will  make  Miss 
Lloyd's  acquaintance ;  she  is  staying  with  my  mother 
just  now,  and  she  is  already  a  great  favourite.  I 
cannot  but  feel  that  having  seen  so  much  of  you 
and  of  your  family  last  summer,  and  during  your 
stay  in  London,  that  I  may  have  raised  expectations 
which  I  find  myself  unable  to  fulfil;  but  I  am  quite 
sure  that  a  man's  first  duty  is  to  himself  in  these 
matters,  and  that  he  should  not  undertake  matri- 
mony until  he  is  thoroughly  convinced  it  is  for  his 
happiness.  Had  I  not  met  Miss  Lloyd,  I  may  say 
that  my  intentions  to  you  were  of  the  most  seri- 
ous nature;  and  I  know  that  I  have  the  power 
in  me  to  make  any  girl  happy.  We  shall  live  with 
my  mother  for  the  first  year,  and  then  I  hope  to  settle 

243 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

somewhere  near  London,  where  it  will  be  nice  for 
me  to  get  into  the  fresh  air  after  my  work  in  the 
City. 

"  Yours  very  truly, 

"  TUDOR  SWINNERTON. 

"  P.S. — Miss  Lloyd  and  I  are  to  be  married  next 
month  in  St.  Luke's  Church,  quite  near  here." 

I  handed  the  letter  back  to  Margaret,  and  we 
never  spoke  the  whole  way  home.  And  that  was 
the  last  day  I  ever  saw  Margaret  Jamie-son  look 
pretty. 


244 


Chapter  XVI 

AFTER  the  operation  on  my  leg  I  was  laid  up  for  a 
long  time,  and  when  I  got  about  again  Palestrina 
and  Thomas  were  married.  Thomas  had  lately 
come  into  his  kingdom  in  the  shape  of  a  lordly  castle 
in  Scotland,  and  for  the  life  of  me  I  can't  say 
whether  or  not  Palestrina  hastened  her  wedding  be- 
cause the  doctor  ordered  me  to  the  North.  If  it  were 
so,  my  sister's  plans  were  frustrated  by  the  fact 
that  Thomas's  ancient  Scottish  seat  was  pronounced 
uninhabitable  by  a  sanitary  surveyor,  just  as  we  pro- 
posed entering  it  under  garlanded  archways  and 
mottoes  on  red  cotton.  Our  old  friend,  Mrs.  Mac- 
donald,  hearing  of  our  dilemma,  very  kindly  invited 
us  to  stay  with  her  while  Palestrina  and  Thomas 
looked  about  for  some  little  house  that  would  take 
us  in  till  their  own  place  should  be  ready.  The 
finding  of  the  little  house  occupied  some  days,  owing 
to  the  powers  of  imagination  displayed  by  people 
when  describing  their  property.  One  lady,  to  whom 
Palestrina  wrote  to  ask  if  her  house  were  to  be  let, 
replied,  "  Yes,  madam ;  this  dear,  delightful,  pretty 
house  is  to  let " ;  and  she  pointed  out  in  a  letter 

245 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

some  four  pages  long  all  the  advantages  that  would 
accrue  to  us  if  we  took  it,  ending  up  with  the  sugges- 
tion, subtly  conveyed,  that  by  taking  the  house  we 
should  be  turning  her  into  the  street,  but  that  she 
would  bear  this  indignity  on  consideration  of  receiv- 
ing ten  guineas  a  week. 

Palestrina  went  to  see  it,  and  returned  in  the 
evening,  almost  in  tears,  to  say  that  the  house  was 
a  semi-detached  villa,  and  that  she  had  found  the 
week's  washing  spread  out  on  the  front  lawn. 

Thomas  said  that  the  railway  companies  ought 
to  pay  a  percentage  on  all  misleading  advertise- 
ments which  induce  people  to  make  these  useless 
journeys. 

The  following  day  she  returned  from  another 
fruitless  expedition,  having  been  to  see  a  very  small 
house  owned  by  the  widow  of  a  sea-captain,  with  a 
strong  Scotch  accent.  I  have  often  noticed  that 
the  sea-faring  man's  one  idea  of  well-invested  capital 
is  house  property — perhaps  he  alone  knows  how 
precarious  is  the  life  of  the  sea.  And  I  shall  like  to 
meet  the  sailor  who  has  invested  his  money  in  a 
shipping  concern.  The  widow's  house  was  so  very 
small  that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  believe  that  it 
contained  the  ten  bedrooms  as  advertised  in  my 
sister's  well-worn  house  list.  So  small,  indeed,  were 

246 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

the  rooms,  that  Palestrina  said  she  felt  sure  that 
they  must  have  been  originally  intended  for  cup- 
boards. Nevertheless,  the  rent  of  the  house  was 
very  high,  and  my  sister  ventured  gently  to  hint  this 
to  the  lady  of  the  house — the  sea-captain's  widow 
with  the  strong  Scotch  accent.  "  Of  course,  it  is  a 
very  nice  house,"  she  said  politely ;  "  but  the  rent  is 
a  little  more  than  we  thought  of  paying  for  a  house 
of  this  size." 

"  I  ken  it's  mair  than  the  hoose  is  worth,"  said  the 
old  dame;  "but,  ye  see,  I'm  that  fond  o'  money — 
aye,  I'm  fearfu'  fond  o'  money." 

Palestrina  and  Thomas  spent  most  of  their  days 
in  their  search  for  a  suitable  house,  and  Mrs.  Mac- 
donald  spends  the  greater  part  of  her  life  house- 
keeping, so  I  was  rather  bored.  What  it  actually  is 
that  occupies  my  hostess  during  the  hours  she 
spends  in  the  back  regions  of  her  house,  I  have 
never  been  able  to  discover.  But  the  fact  remains 
that  we  have  to  get  up  unusually  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, to  allow  time  for  Mrs.  Macdonald's  absorbing 
occupation.  An  old-fashioned  Scotchwoman  of  my 
acquaintance  used  to  refuse  all  invitations  to  leave 
the  house  on  Thursdays,  because,  as  she  explained, 
"  I  keep  Thursdays  for  my  creestal  and  my  napery." 
The  rest  of  her  week,  however,  was  comparatively 

247 


A   Lame    Dog's   Diary 

free.  At  Mrs.  Macdonald's  house-keeping  is  never 
over,  and  so  systematic  are  the  rules  and  regulations 
of  the  house,  so  many  and  so  various  are  the  lady's 
keys,  that  one  finds  one's  self  wondering  if  the  rules 
of  a  prison  or  a  workhouse  can  be  more  strict.  The 
Times  newspaper  arrives  every  evening  after  dinner ; 
by  lunch-time  next  day  it  is  locked  away  in  a  cabinet, 
so  that  if  one  has  not  read  the  news  by  one  o'clock, 
one  must  ask  Mrs.  Macdonald  to  let  one  have  the 
keys ;  this  she  does  quite  good-naturedly,  but  I  have 
never  discovered  why  old  newspapers  should  be 
kept  with  so  much  care.  On  Saturdays  an  old  man 
from  the  village  comes  in  to  do  a  little  extra  tidying- 
up  in  the  garden.  At  nine  o'clock  precisely  Mrs. 
Macdonald  is  on  the  doorstep  of  her  house  with  a 
cup  of  tea  in  her  hand,  and  a  brisk,  kindly  greeting 
for  John,  and  she  stands  over  the  old  man  while  he 
drinks  his  tea,  and  then  returns  with  the  empty  cup 
into  the  house. 

Tuesday  is  the  day  on  which  her  drawing-room  is 
cleaned.  At  half -past  nine  precisely  on  Monday 
evenings  Mrs.  Macdonald  says :  "  Monday,  you 
know,  is  our  early  closing  night ; "  and  she  fetches 
you  a  candle  and  despatches  you  to  bed.  Mrs. 
Macdonald  and  her  housemaid — there  seems  to  be 
plenty  of  servants  to  do  the  work  of  the  house — 

248 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

walk  the  whole  of  the  drawing-room  furniture  into 
the  hall,  Mrs.  Macdonald  loops  up  the  curtains  her- 
self, and  covers  some  appalling  pictures  and  the 
mantelpiece-ornaments  with  dust-sheets.  At  ten 
o'clock  she  removes  a  pair  of  housemaid's  gloves 
and  an  apron  which  she  has  donned  for  the  occasion, 
and  says :  "  There !  that's  all  ready  for  Tuesday's 
cleaning ; "  and  she  briskly  bids  her  housemaid  good- 
night. 

On  Tuesdays  we  are  not  allowed  to  enter  the 
drawing-room  all  day,  and  on  Wednesday  the  same 
restrictions  are  placed  upon  the  dining-room.  In- 
deed, on  no  day  in  the  week  is  the  whole  of  the 
house  available,  and  upon  no  morning  of  the  week 
has  Mrs.  Macdonald  a  spare  moment  to  herself. 
After  breakfast,  when  Palestrina  and  Thomas  have 
gone,  she  conducts  me  to  the  morning-room,  and 
placing  the  Scotsman  (the  Scotsman  is  used  for 
lighting  the  fires,  and  is  formally  handed  to  the 
housemaid  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening)  by  my  chair, 
she  says,  "  I  hope  you  will  be  all  right,"  and  shuts 
the  door  upon  me.  During  the  morning  she  pops 
her  head  in  from  time  to  time,  like  an  attentive 
guard  who  has  been  told  to  look  after  a  lady  on  a 
journey,  and,  nodding  briskly  from  the  door,  she 
asks,  "Are  you  all  right?  Sure  you  would  not  like 

249 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

milk,  or  anything? "  and  then  disappears  again. 
With  a  little  stretch  of  imagination  one  can  almost 
believe  that  the  green  flag  has  been  raised  to  the 
engine-driver,  and  that  the  train  is  moving  off.  At 
lunch-time  she  is  so  busy  giving  directions  to  her 
servants  that  she  hardly  ever  hears  what  one  says, 
and  the  most  interesting  piece  of  news  is  met  with 
the  somewhat  irrelevant  reply.  "  The  bread-sauce, 
please,  Jane,  and  then  the  cauliflower."  Turning  to 
one,  she  explains,  "  I  always  train  my  servants  my- 
self. .  .  .  What  were  you  saying  just  now?" 

"  I  saw  in  the  newspaper  this  morning,"  I  repeat, 
"  that  H.M.S.  has  foundered  with  all  hands." 

"  In  the  middle  of  the  table,  if  you  please,"  says 
Mrs.  Macdonald ;  "  and  then  the  coffee  with  the 
crystallized  sugar — not  the  brown — and  open  the 
drawing-room  windows  when  you  have  finished 
tidying  there.  .  .  .  What  were  you  saying?  How 
sad  these  things  are ! " 

The  house  is  charmingly  situated,  with  a  most 
beautiful  view  over  river  and  hills ;  but  I  really  think 
my  preoccupied  friend  hardly  ever  has  time  to  look 
out  of  the  window,  and  that  to  her  the  interior  of 
a  store  cupboard  with  neatly-filled  shelves  is  more 
beautiful  than  anything  which  the  realms  of  Nature 
can  offer. 

250 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

When  Palestrina  is  present  Mrs.  Macdonald  gives 
her  recipes  for  making  puddings  and  for  taking 
stains  out  of  carpets,  and  she  advises  her  about 
spring  cleanings  and  the  proper  sifting  of  ashes  at 
the  back-door.  Mrs.  Macdonald  was  brought  up  in 
the  old  days,  when  a  young  lady's  training  and 
education  were  frankly  admitted  to  be  a  training 
for  her  as  a  wife.  She  belonged  to  the  days 
when  a  girl  with  a  taste  for  music  was  encouraged 
to  practise  "  so  that  some  day  you  may  be  able  to 
play  to  your  husband  in  the  evenings,  my  dear,"  and 
was  advised  to  be  an  early  riser,  so  that  the  house 
might  be  comfortable  and  in  order  when  her  husband 
should  descend  to  breakfast.  And  now  that  that 
husband  having  been  duly  administered  to  is  dead, 
Mrs.  Macdonald's  homely  talents,  once  the  means 
to  an  end,  have  resolved  themselves  into  an  end,  a 
finality  of  effort,  themselves.  Mrs.  Macdonald  was 
brought  up  to  be  a  housekeeper,  and  she  remains 
a  housekeeper,  and  jam-pots  and  preserving-pans 
form  the  boundary  line  of  her  life  and  the  limit  of 
her  horizon. 

Eliza  Jamieson  would  probably  tell  us  that  even 
though  Mrs.  Macdonald's  soups  and  preserves  are 
excellent,  these  culinary  efforts  should  not  be  the 
highest  things  required  of  a  wife  by  her  husband, 

251 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

and  that  therefore  they  are  not  a  wife's  highest 
duty,  even  during  the  time  that  her  husband  re- 
mains with  her,  and  she  would  probably  point  out 
that  servants  and  weekly  bills,  and  an  endeavour  to 
render  this  creature  complacent,  have  ruined  many 
a  woman's  life.  And  I  laugh  as  I  think  of  Pales- 
trina's  rejoinder:  "But  then  it  is  so  much  pleas- 
anter  when  they  are  complacent." 

One  certainly  imagined  that  the  late  Mr.  Mac- 
donald  must  have  been  well  looked  after  during  his 
life,  and  it  was  something  of  a  shock  to  me  to  hear 
the  account  of  his  death,  which  was  given  to  me  by 
the  lodge-keeper's  wife  one  afternoon,  when  she  had 
come  in  to  help  with  the  cleaning,  and  was  arranging 
my  dressing-table  for  me.  The  rest  of  my  bedroom 
furniture  was  then  standing  in  the  passage,  and  I 
had  found  my  cap  in  one  of  the  spare  bedrooms  and 
all  the  boots  of  the  house  in  the  hall. 

"  He  was  a  rale  decent  gentleman,"  said  Mrs. 
Gemmil,  "  and  awfy  patient  with  the  cleaning.  But 
I  am  sure,  whiles  I  was  sorry  for  him,  he  was  shuftit 
and  shuftit,  and  never  knew  in  the  morn  whichna 
bed  in  the  hoose  he  would  be  sleeping  in  at  nicht. 
And  we  a'  ken  that  it  was  the  spring  cleaning,  when 
he  was  pit  to  sleep  ower  the  stables,  that  was,  under 
Providence,  the  death  o'  him.  He  had  aye  to  cross 

252 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

ower  in  the  wat  at  nicht  time,  and  he  juist  took  a 
pair  o'  cauld  feet,  and  they  settled  on  his  stomach." 

The  day  following  my  chat  with  Mrs.  Gemmil 
was  the  day  Palestrina  found  the  house  such  as  she 
had  been  looking  for  all  along.  The  day  was  Sat- 
urday. Overnight  she  had  announced  her  intention 
of  being  away  all  day,  and  Mrs.  Macdonald  had  said 
delightedly  that  that  would  suit  her  admirably.  "  I 
do  like  the  servants  to  have  the  entire  day  for  the 
passages  on  Saturday."  Even  when  the  day  dawned 
wet  and  cloudy,  Palestrina  had  not  the  courage  to 
suggest  that  she  should  stay  at  home,  and  thereby 
interfere  with  the  cleaning  of  the  passages. 

The  house  seemed  to  be  everything  that  was 
desirable,  and  Palestrina  returned  in  an  elated 
frame  of  mind.  "  It  is  far  away  from  everything," 
she  said,  "  so  far  as  I  can  make  out,  except  the 
village  people  and  the  minister,  and  the  *  big 
hoose,'  as  they  call  it,  which  some  English  bodies 
have  rented  for  the  autumn." 

"  It  can't  be  far  from  the  Melfords',"  said 
Thomas,  pulling  out  a  map.  "Yes,  I  thought  so; 
they  are  just  the  other  side  of  the  loch." 

"  We  *  mussed  the  connaketion  '  on  our  way  back," 
said  Palestrina ;  "  and  I  do  believe  there's  nothing  a 
Scotch  porter  enjoys  telling  one  so  much  as  this." 

253 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  unduly  disparaging  the  railway 
system  of  my  native  land,"  said  Thomas,  "when  I 
say  that  if  you  go  by  steamer  and  by  train  it  is  the 
remark  that  usually  greets  one,  and  it  is  always 
made  in  a  tone  of  humorous  satisfaction."  And 
Thomas,  with  an  exaggerated  Scotch  accent,  which 
he  does  uncommonly  well,  began  to  tell  me  of  their 
adventures.  "  We  had  a  rush  for  the  train,"  he  said, 
"  and  I  told  an  elderly  Scot,  who  couldn't  have 
hurried  if  he  had  had  a  mad  bull  behind  him,  to  run 
and  get  our  tickets.  He  walked  slowly  down  the 
platform,  muttering,  '  Furrst,  furrst,'  and  then  he 
opened  the  door  of  a  third  class  carriage  and  shoved 
us  in,  saying,  *  Ye've  no  occasion  to  travel  furrst 
when  there's  plenty  of  room  in  the  thurrds.'  '* 


254 


Chapter  XVII 

THERE  does  not  seem  much  to  record  about  our  life 
in  the  Highlands.  It  is  distinctly  a  pleasant  time, 
and  it's  a  blessing  to  feel  so  much  stronger,  and 
everything  looks  so  jolly  after  one  has  been  for  weeks 
in  bed  that  I  often  find  myself  saying,  "  I'm  glad  I'm 
not  beneath  the  sod." 

Behind  the  little  house  there  is  a  solemn  glen  with 
hills  on  either  side,  and  a  long  white  road  wandering 
between  them.  To  get  to  the  house  one  takes  a 
steamer  to  the  head  of  the  loch,  and  from  there  old 
Hughie  drives  one  in  the  coach,  and  deposits  one  at 
the  cross-roads,  where  the  turf,  short  and  green,  is 
cut  into  the  shape  of  a  heart.  On  this  green  heart 
in  the  old  days  the  girls  and  men  of  the  glen  were 
married.  They  stood  side  by  side  on  the  upper  part 
of  the  heart,  which  is  indented,  and  the  minister 
stood  at  the  point  and  wedded  the  pair.  Here  one 
leaves  the  coach,  and  a  "  machine  "  must  take  one  on 
to  the  little  house.  A  red  creeper  grows  up  its 
white  walls,  and  from  the  terrace  in  front  of  the 
house  one  looks  down  upon  the  little  Presbyterian 

255 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

chuvch  and  the  village,  and  these  in  their  turn  look 
on  to  the  loch  and  the  hills  on  the  other  side. 

The  people  in  the  village  afford  one  a  good  deal 
of  amusement,  but  we  have  observed  that  the  con- 
versation is  always  of  theology  or  of  the  Royal 
Family.  There  is  one  story  of  the  late  Queen  and 
the  crown  of  Scotland  which  I  have  heard  repeated 
many  times  with  the  utmost  gravity  in  the  High- 
lands. 

"  A  gran*  wumman,"  say  the  old  villagers,  "  but 
we  were  not  gaein*  tae  gie  her  the  croon  o'  Scotland. 
Na,  na.  She  would  hae  liked  fine  tae  have  had  it, 
but  we  were  no  gaein*  tae  gie  her  the  croon  o'  Scot- 
land. Ye'll  mind  when  she  went  tae  Scotland  it 
was  the  foremost  thing  that  she  spiered  tae  see. 
And  when  they  showed  it  tae  her,  *  I  would  like  fine 
tae  pit  it  on  ma  heid,5  said  she.  But  they  said  *  No.' 
And  syne  she  says,  '  Wad  ye  no  let  me  haud  it  in 
ma  haund?5  But  they  say  '  No.9  'Weel,5  she  says, 
'  Juist  haud  it  aboon  ma  heid,  and  let  me  staun' 
underneath  it,5  but  they  said  *  No.'  '* 

The  villagers  formed  our  only  society  until  Evan 
Sinclair's  tenants,  who  were  known  as  "  the  folk  at 
the  big  hoose,"  came  to  call  upon  us.  It  was  very 
difficult  indeed,  and  for  some  time  we  could  hardly 
believe  that  these  were  the  Finlaysons  whom  we 

256 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

had  met  at  Clarkham,  and  whom,  we  now  remem- 
bered, had  told  us  that  they  were  going  to  take  a 
place  in  Scotland.  The  change  in  the  Finlaysons 
is  startling  and  complete.  It  has  taken  them  exactly 
two  months  to  become  Highlanders,  and  it  is  not 
too  much  to  say  that  now  the  whole  family  may  be 
said  to  reek  of  tartan.  Only  Mrs.  Finlayson  is  un- 
affected by  her  life  in  the  Highlands,  although  she 
says  that  she  knows  it  is  fashionable  to  be  Scotch. 
"  And  so  written  up  as  it  is  at  present,"  she  adds : 
"  and  all  the  best  people  taking  the  deer-moors. 
Papa  and  the  girls  think  all  the  world  of  Scotland. 
But  no  one  can  say  it  is  comfortable,  I'm  sure." 

The  Finlaysons  have  a  piper,  and  young  Mr. 
Finlayson  wears  a  kilt,  and  I  think  they  are,  without 
exception,  the  most  strenuous  supporters  of  Scottish 
customs  whom  I  have  ever  met.  The  young  ladies, 
whom  we  had  always  associated  in  our  minds  with 
silk  dresses  and  thin  shoes,  came  to  call  clad  in  the 
very  shortest  and  roughest  tweed  skirts  that  I  have 
ever  seen ;  and  old  Mr.  Finlayson,  whose  mother  was 
a  Robinson,  has  discovered  that  that  is  pretty  much 
the  same  as  being  a  Robertson,  and  that  therefore, 
in  some  mysterious  way,  he  is  entitled  to  wear  the 
Macdonald  tartan.  They  asked  us  to  tea  in  a  very 
polite  and  friendly  way,  and  the  old  rooms  were 

257 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

shown  off  to  us  with  a  good  deal  of  pride.  The 
architecture  of  the  house*  seemed  to  throw  a  reflected 
glory  on  Mr.  Finlayson. 

"Pure  early  Scottish,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
tall,  narrow  windows  with  their  shelving  ledges. 

"  So  dangerous,"  said  Mrs.  Finlayson,  "  for  the 
servants  cleaning  the  windows." 

The  drawing-room  vases  were  all  filled  with 
heather,  and  the  room  smelt  of  damp  dog  and 
herrings.  The  Miss  Finlaysons  came  in  to  tea  in 
thick  skirts  and  brogues,  with  tartan  tam-o'-shanters 
very  becomingly  placed  upon  their  heads,  and  affixed 
to  their  hair  with  ornamental  bonnet  pins.  They 
ate  cake  with  damp,  red  hands,  and  seemed  to  pride 
themselves  upon  the  fish-scales  which  still  clung  to 
their  skirts,  and  imparted  the  rather  unpleasant 
odour  which  I  noticed  in  the  room.  Young  Finlay- 
son in  his  kilt  showed  a  great  expanse  of  red  knee, 
and  told  tales  of  remarks  made  to  him  by  the  boat- 
men, which  he  considered  equal  to  anything  in  Ian 
Maclaren's  books. 

Mrs.  Finlayson  took  us  out  after  tea  to  see  the 
garden  and  tennis  court  and  the  game  larder.  "  I 
always  like  a  walled  garden,"  she  said,  "  it  is  so 
stylish."  Mr.  Finlayson  found  a  reflected  glory  even 
in  the  loch  and  the  hills,  and  he  waved  his  fat  hand 

258 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

towards  them  and  said :  "  We  are  able  to  do  you  a 
nice  bit  of  view  here,  aren't  we?  " 

"  I  tell  papa,"  said  Mrs.  Finlayson,  "  that  he  will 
ruin  the  girls  for  anything  else  after  this.  The  only 
thing  we  regret  is  the  want  of  society.  However,  a 
few  of  the  best  people  round  about  have  called,  and 
we  are  giving  quite  an  informal  little  dinner-party 
to-morrow  night." 

Mrs.  Finlayson  then  invited  us  to  dinner,  and 
when  we  hesitated,  on  the  plea  that  we  should  have 
one  or  two  friends  with  us,  Mrs.  Finlayson,  in  the 
most  hospitable  manner  possible,  said  that  she  always 
had  a  "  profusion  on  their  own  table,"  so  there  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  accept  her  invitation. 

The  dinner  was  one  of  those  rather  purposeless 
feasts  which  are  given  in  the  country,  and  the 
Finlaysons'  neighbours,  who  had  been  bidden  to  it, 
bore  upon  their  faces  the  peculiar  homeless  look 
which  one  observes  in  the  expressions  of  one's  men 
friends  especially,  when  they  come  out  to  dinner — 
the  look  that  says  as  plainly  as  possible  that  they 
are  moving  about  in  worlds  not  realized  nor  found 
particularly  comfortable,  and  that  they  would  infi- 
nitely prefer  their  own  armchairs  at  home. 

The  minister  took  Palestrina  in  to  dinner,  and 
occupied  himself  throughout  the  evening  by  putting 

259 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

the  most  searching  questions  to  her  of  an  inquisitive 
nature.  He  asked  how  many  servants  we  had, 
whether  we  were  satisfied  with  our  cook,  where  we 
came  from,  and  why  we  had  come.  And  he  did  it 
all  with  such  keen  interest  and  intelligence  that 
Palestrina  admitted  that  she  really  had  felt  flattered 
rather  than  provoked.  His  friend,  Evan  Sinclair, 
who,  having  let  his  house  to  the  Finlaysons,  is  living 
on  a  little  farm  close  by,  contradicted  everything 
that  the  minister  said,  and  the  two  quarrelled  the 
whole  evening. 

Old  Tyne  Drum,  who  lives  a  good  many  miles 
away,  but  who  with  his  wife  had  already  been  to 
call  upon  us,  brewed  himself  the  very  largest  glasses 
of  whisky-toddy  which  I  have  ever  seen,  even  on 
a  big  night  at  mess,  and  he  proposed  healths  and 
drank  the  steaming  mixture  throughout  dinner  in  a 
very  commendable  national  spirit.  His  piper,  who 
stood  behind  his  chair,  refused  at  last  to  pour  out 
any  further  libations,  and  I  heard  him  mutter  to 
himself :  "  Ye'll  no  need  tae  say  that  Sandy  Mac- 
nichol  ever  helpit  ye  tae  the  deil." 

Certainly  old  Tyne  Drum  had  had  quite  sufficient 
to  drink,  but  he  began  to  cry  a  little  when  more 
whisky  was  refused  him,  which  was  depressing. 
Young  Finlayson  is  always  very  jocose  upon  the 

260 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

subject  of  whisky,  as  befits  his  ideas  about  the 
Highlands;  and  even  the  Miss  Finlaysons  in  their 
faithful  loyalty  to  all  things  Scottish,  were  quite 
pleased  with  Tyne  Drum's  performance,  and  would 
have  scorned  to  look  as  though  a  whisky-drinking 
laird  was  a  novelty  to  them. 

Mrs.  Finlayson  told  Thomas,  in  a  very  severe 
manner,  and  in  her  platform  voice,  which  I  always 
find  so  impressive,  that  she  considered  intemperance 
a  sin,  but  that  that  was  what  came  of  all  this 
nonsense  about  Scotland.  She  gave  him  quite  a 
lecture  upon  the  subject,  as  though  he,  being  Scot- 
tish born,  was  responsible  for  the  old  laird's 
backsliding. 

When  the  unfortunate  old  gentleman  came  into 
the  drawing-room  to  join  the  ladies  and  sat  down 
next  him,  Mrs.  Finlayson  looked  at  Thomas  as 
though  she  thought  he  was  in  some  sort  to  blame 
for  this  behaviour. 

Tyne  Drum  dropped  heavily  on  to  the  otto- 
man, and  I  heard  him  say:  "Do  you  know  my 
wife?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Thomas.  "  I  have  met  her  several 
times  since  we  came  to  the  cottage." 

"  Hoo  old  should  ye  think  she  was?  "  (Tyne  Drum 
is  always  broadly  Doric  in  his  cups.)  Thomas  cal- 

261 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

culated  that  the  lady  must  be  a  long  way  the  wrong 
side  of  sixty,  and  humbly  suggested  that  she  might 
perhaps  be  forty-five. 

"  Presairve  us ! "  said  the  Laird.  "  This  lad  here 
says  my  wife  is  forty-five ! "  He  began  to  sob  bit- 
terly, and,  putting  his  handkerchief  to  his  eyes, 
cried :  "  My  pretty  wee  Jeannie,  my  bonnie  wee  wife, 
wha  daurs  tae  say  ye  was  forty-five ! " 

Thomas  was  so  sorry  for  him  and  for  what  he  had 
done  that  he  did  his  best  to  cheer  him  up  by  telling 
him  that  what  he  meant  to  say  was  twenty-five;  but 
Tyne  Drum  was  inconsolable,  and  went  to  sleep  with 
tear-drops  on  his  cheeks. 

When  we  got  home  in  the  evening  Palestrina 
said :  "  We  are  far  behind  the  Finlaysons  in  all 
things  Scottish.  I  shall  buy  a  Harris  tweed  skirt, 
and  you  and  Thomas  must  buy  something  too."  So 
we  drove  down  in  the  coach  to  the  ferry  on  a 
very  wet  and  windy  day  to  cross  over  to  the 
"  toon." 

Our  place  on  the  coach  we  shared  with  a  gentle- 
man bound  for  the  other  side  of  the  water,  who  had 
evidently  taken  far  too  potent  precautions  against 
sea-sickness. 

No  one  dreamed  of  mentioning  his  condition  in  a 
more  direct  way  than  this,  for  there  are  certain 

262 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

things  and  people  whom  a  native  delicacy  forbids  to 
call  by  name  in  the  North.  The  devil  has  quite  a 
number  of  appellations,  some  of  them  of  a  humorous 
turn,  and  these  are  all  used  to  describe  him,  and 
what  might  be  called  his  proper  name  is  reserved 
for  pulpit  utterances.  In  the  same  way  a  man  who 
is  intoxicated  will  have  his  condition  explained  in 
the  word,  "  He  has  just  been  the  length  o'  the 
toon  " — the  toon  being  the  nearest  place  at  which 
liquor  is  obtainable. 

Thomas  said :  "  I  should  describe  him  as  being 
roaring  drunk  if  I  had  been  asked."  But  the  words 
sounded  out  of  place  and  uncivil. 

The  wind  was  high  as  we  drove  in  the  coach,  and 
the  rain  fell  heavily  once  or  twice,  but  the  spirits  of 
the  gentleman  who  "  had  been  the  length  o'  the 
toon  "  rose  higher  and  higher  as  the  rain  descended. 
He  alluded  to  himself  alternately  as  a  Highland 
gentleman,  a  total  abstainer,  and  a  sinner  who 
expected  mercy.  But  Hughie  the  coachman  chided 
him  with  no  stint  of  words  on  the  unmannerliness 
of  his  condition,  and  at  every  burst  of  eloquence  on 
the  passenger's  part  he  remarked :  "  Another  wurrd 
and  '11  pit  ye  in  the  ditch !  " 

This  method  of  treating  the  disorderly  passenger 
suggested  the  possibility  of  the  coach  being  over- 

263 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

turned  in  order  to  punish  him,  and  Palestrina  grew 
alarmed. 

"  I  do  hope,"  she  said  to  Hughie,  "  that  you  will 
remember  that  we  are  not  all  inebriates,  and  that 
therefore,  we  do  not  require  the  same  treatment 
meted  out  to  us." 

The  guard  at  the  back  of  the  coach  here  showed 
his  head  over  the  pile  of  boxes  covered  with  tarpaulin 
on  the  roof,  and  called  out :  "  Pit  him  inside  the 
coach  wi'  Mrs.  Macfadyen,  and  she'll  sort  him! 
She'll  gie  him  the  Gaelic !  " 

Hughie  chuckled  and  remarked :  "  Ay,  she's  the 
gran'  wumman  wi'  her  tongue ! "  And  during  the 
rest  of  the  drive  his  threats  to  the  cheerful  passenger 
took  the  form  of :  "  Another  wurrd,  and  I'll  pit  ye 
in  wi'  Mrs.  Macfadyen ! " 

There  was  a  marked  improvement  in  our  cheerful 
friend's  behaviour  after  this.  The  poor  wretch, 
however,  was  in  great  difficulties  when  he  came  to 
get  into  the  ferry-boat.  It  was  easy  enough  to  throw 
his  first  leg  over  the  side  while  holding  on  by  a 
thole  pin,  but  the  balance  required  to  convey  the 
remaining  limb  into  the  boat  was  quite  out  of  his 
power.  And  having  made  one  or  two  ineffectual 
hops  on  the  beach  with  the  shore-loving  member, 
he  turned  to  the  boatmen,  and  said  gravely :  "  Lift 

264 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

in  my  leg,  Angus!  Juist  gie  me  a  hand  wi'  ma 
last  leg!" 

Palestrina  chose  the  tweed  for  our  coats  and  her 
skirt,  and  then  we  walked  up  to  the  Castle  and 
called  on  the  Melfords,  who  told  us  that  Mrs.  Fielden 
was  coming  to  stay  with  them.  They  sang  her 
praises,  as  most  people  do ;  she  has  heaps  of  friends. 
Then  Palestrina  did  some  shopping  at  the  flesher's 
and  the  baker's,  and  we  went  down  to  the  ferry  again 
— a  boy  behind  us  laden  with  queer-looking  parcels 
containing  provisions,  and  Aloa  yarn  to  knit  into 
stockings,  and  paper-bags  with  ginger-bread  cakes 
in  them.  When  we  got  in  and  sat  down  under  the 
brown  sail  of  the  heavy  boat,  the  two  sailors  re- 
mained in  their  places  and  did  not  show  the  least 
sign  of  getting  under  way.  Thomas  said  to  the 
elder  of  the  two  men,  a  fine  old  fellow  with  a  face  such 
as  one  connects  with  stories  of  the  Covenanters: 

"  Why  don't  you  get  off?  " 

And  the  old  man  replied  unmoved,  "  I'm  waiting 
for  the  Lord."  Palestrina,  who  is  sympathetic  in 
every  matter,  put  on  an  expression  of  deep  religious 
feeling,  and  we  thought  of  the  Irvingites,  and  wished 
that  we  had  Eliza  Jamieson  with  us  "  to  look  it  up." 
As  far  as  we  knew,  the  Irvingites  wait  to  perform 
every  action  until  inspired  to  perform  it.  We  had 

265 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

heard  that  in  the  smallest  matter,  such  as  beginning 
to  eat  their  dinner,  they  will  wait  until  this  inspira- 
tion, as  I  suppose  one  must  call  it,  is  given  to  them. 
The  question  then  arose,  how  long  would  it  be 
before  we  would  be  likely  to  get  under  way?  The 
two  sailors  sat  on  without  moving,  and  the  elder  of 
them  cut  a  wedge  of  tobacco  and  was  filling  his  pipe 
preparing  to  smoke.  We  wondered  if  the  Irvingites 
often  waited  for  an  inspiration  in  this  contented  way. 
The  big,  red-funnelled  steamer  from  Greenock  was, 
meanwhile,  preparing  to  depart.  It  had  poured  its 
daily  output  of  tourists  for  their  half -hour's  run  in 
the  town,  which  time  they  employ  in  buying 
mementoes  of  the  place,  and  we  had  hurried  down 
to  the  sailing-boat  to  escape  this  influx. 

Thomas  endeavoured  to  assist  inspiration  by  say- 
ing it  didn't  seem  much  use  waiting  any  longer, 
and  that  as  time  was  getting  on,  did  not  our  friend 
(the  gray-bearded  Covenanter)  think  that  it  was 
time  to  be  moving?  The  Covenanter  wrinkled  up 
his  nose,  which  already  was  a  good  deal  wrinkled, 
and  gazed  upwards  at  the  sail,  or,  as  we  interpreted 
it,  to  Heaven.  Palestrina  pressed  Thomas's  hand 
and  said  gently,  "  Don't  urge  him,  dear ;  we  shall 
get  off  in  time."  And  the  younger  sailor  said, 
"  We  are  waiting  for  the  Lord"  So  we  knew 

266 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

that  they  were  both  Irvingites,  and  the  only 
scepticism  that  intruded  itself  upon  us  was  this: 
Suppose  inspiration  never  came,  how  should  we 
get  home? 

The  steamer  now  began  to  move  away  from  the 
pier  with  a  great  churning  and  hissing  of  water,  and 
seething  white  foam  fizzing  round  the  staples  of  the 
pier.  A  band  began  to  play  on  board,  and  the 
paddles  broke  the  water  with  a  fine  sweep.  Two 
youngsters  on  shore,  to  whom  "  the  stimmer "  is  a 
daily  excitement,  then  called  out  in  shrill,  high  voice  : 
"There's  the  Lord!  She's  aff!" 

The  Lord  of  the  Isles  had  moved  off  on  her  return 
journey  to  Greenock,  and  the  notes  on  Scottish 
religion  which  Palestrina  was  carefully  preparing 
were  hastily  destroyed.  The  Lord  had  departed, 
and  we  sailed  across  the  loch  without  waiting  any 
longer. 

When  we  got  home  we  found  the  minister 
awaiting  us  in  the  drawing-room,  he  having  sug- 
gested that  as  we  were  not  at  home,  he  had  better 
stay  till  our  return.  I  found  out  in  the  course 
of  conversation  that  he  is  a  distant  relation  of  old 
Captain  Jamieson's — the  Jamiesons'  father — so  we 
had  quite  a  long  talk  about  our  friends.  The  min- 
ister is  one  of  those  Scots  whose  national  character- 

267 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

istics  are  always  stronger  than  individual  character. 
Take  away  his  nationality  from  him,  and  Mr. 
Macorquodale  would  be  nothing  at  all;  if  matter  is 
but  a  cohesion  of  qualities,  and  those  qualities  are 
entirely  Scottish,  it  is  only  logical  to  assume  that 
if  Mr.  Macorquodale  were  not  Scottish,  he  would 
be  nothing. 

Palestrina  came  out  on  to  the  little  terrace  where 
we  were  sitting,  and  I  explained  to  her  that  the 
minister  was  a  cousin  of  the  Jamiesons. 

"  How  interesting ! "  said  Palestrina,  in  her  usual 
nice,  kind  way. 

"  Why?  "  said  the  minister.  He  has  sandy  hair 
and  very  round,  gray  eyes,  and  looks  like  a  football 
player. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  my  sister ;  "  it's  always 
interesting,  isn't  it,  to  find  that  people  are  related  ?  " 

"  Everyone  must  have  some  relations,"  said 
Mr.  Macorquodale,  "  and  if  my  choice  had  been 
given  me,  I  do  not  think  I  should  have  chosen  those 
five  gurrls." 

"  We  like  them  so  very  much,"  Palestrina  said, 
smiling. 

"  Is  that  the  truth?  "  said  Mr.  Macorquodale;  and 
she  replied  firmly  that  it  was. 

"  Um  umph ! "  he  said,  as  though  considering  a 
268 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

perfectly  new  problem,  and  then  added :  "  Well, 
each  man  to  his  taste.  How  many  of  them  have 
got  husbands?" 

I  replied  that  Kate  was  married  and  Gracie 
engaged. 

"  Gracie? "  said  the  minister  simply.  "  Was 
that  the  one  with  a  nose  like  a  scone?  " 

We  considered  Gracie's  nose  silently  for  a 
moment,  and  then  admitted  that  perhaps  the  simile 
was  not  unjust. 

"How  did  she  get  him?"  said  the  minister 
pleasantly. 

The  minister  has  a  curious  way  of  eating  which 
fascinates  one  to  look  at,  while  all  the  time  there  is 
a  distinct  feeling  that  an  accident  may  happen  at 
any  moment.  When  the  tea  was  brought  out  he  ac- 
cepted some,  and  filled  his  mouth  very  full  of  cookie, 
stowing  into  it  nearly  a  whole  one  at  a  time,  and 
then  raised  his  tea-cup  to  his  lips.  He  persists  in 
keeping  his  spoon  in  his  cup  as  he  drinks,  and  he 
prevents  it  from  tumbling  out  by  holding  it  with  his 
thumb.  A  long  draught  of  tea  is  then  partaken  of 
with  a  gurgling  sound,  and  as  the  minister  swallows 
one  sees  a  line  of  the  beverage  appearing  between 
his  closed  lips.  It  is  almost  impossible  to  prevent 
one's  self  watching  this  process  of  eating  and  drink- 

269 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

ing  during  the  whole  of  tea-time.  For  it  seems  so 
uncertain  whether  the  spoon  will  remain  in  its  place, 
and  the  cookie  and  the  line  of  milky  tea. 

The  minister  is  a  very  young  man,  with  the  pug- 
nacity of  an  Edinburgh  High  School  boy,  and  the 
awful  truthfulness  which  distinguishes  his  nation, 
but  which  is  accentuated  in  such  an  alarming  degree 
in  a  minister  of  the  Kirk. 

"  I  sent  Kate  a  scent-bottle  when  she  married," 
he  remarked.  "  I  won  it  at  a  bazaar  for  sixpence, 
so  it  was  not  expensive.  I  don't  disapprove  of 
raffles,"  he  added,  although  he  had  not  been  asked  for 
this  piece  of  information — "  that  is,  if  ladies  do  not 
cheat  over  it,  as  they  often  do."  Palestrina  bristled 
at  the  insinuation,  and  the  minister  consoled  her  by 
saying.  "  Women  sin  in  such  wee  ways — that's  what 
I  can't  understand  about  them.  However,"  he  said, 
"  I  have  never  known  a  woman  steal  a  thing  yet 
that  a  man  has  not  reaped  some  benefit  by  it.  I 
can  quote  authority  for  my  views  from  Adam  and 
Eve  downwards  to  the  newspapers  of  yesterday.  I 
am  engaged  to  be  married  myself,  and  I  find  the 
subject  of  feminine  ethics  absorbing.  Good-bye,"  he 
said  presently,  "  I  hope  you  will  not  be  disappointed 
with  the  clothes  I  hear  you've  ordered." 

Alas!  the  tweed  coat  and  skirt  in  which  my  sister 
270 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

hoped  to  rival  the  Miss  Finlaysons  proved  an  utter 
misfit,  and  she  drove  round  the  loch  on  the  following 
iday  to  take  the  garments  back.  Palestrina  had 
prepared  a  severe  reprimand  for  the  tailor,  but  the 
old  man  took  the  wind  out  of  her  sails  by  stopping 
in  amazement  at  the  first  word  of  annoyance  which 
she  uttered,  and  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  little 
fitting-room,  with  a  yellow  tape  measure  round  his 
neck,  and  a  piece  of  chalk  in  his  hand,  he  shook  his 
gray  beard  at  us  with  something  of  Apostolic  fer- 
vour, and  thus  addressed  us: 

"  I'm  amazed  at  ye !  Do  ye  ever  consider  the 
system  of  planets,  and  that  this  world  is  one  of  the 
lesser  points  of  light  in  space,  and  that  even  here 
there  are  countless  millions  of  human  beings,  full  of 
great  resolves  and  high  purposes.  Get  outside  your- 
selves, ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  realize  in  the 
magnitude  of  the  universe,  and  the  immeasurable 
majesty  of  the  planetary  system,  how  small  a  thing 
is  the  ill-fit  of  a  j  acket." 

We  felt  much  humbled,  Palestrina  and  I.  And  it 
was  only  when  we  were  driving  home  afterwards 
that  it  even  dimly  suggested  itself  to  us  that  we  had 
right  on  our  side  at  all.  "  After  all,"  Palestrina 
said,  "  the  coats  did  not  fit ;  I  really  do  not  think 
he  need  have  lectured  us  so  severely." 

271 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

At  the  time,  however,  I  confess  that  our  feelings 
were  distinctly  apologetic. 

One  wonders  how  a  tailor  who  advanced  the 
planetary  system  as  a  reproof  to  complaining  cus- 
tomers would  get  on  in  London,  and  one  realizes 
that  English  people  have  a  great  deal  still  to  learn. 


272 


Chapter  XVIII 

WHEN  Mrs.  Fielden  came  to  stop  at  the  Melfords* 
we  saw  a  good  deal  of  her.  Their  yacht  used  to 
steam  up  in  the  early  morning,  and  they  would  take 
us  off  for  a  day's  cruise  on  the  loch  or  a  trip  round 
to  Oban.  Mrs.  Fielden  used  to  sit  on  deck  with  a 
big  red  umbrella  over  her  head  and  a  white  yachting 
gown  on,  and  seemed  serenely  unconscious  that  she 
was  looking  very  pretty  and  very  smart,  and  quite 
different  to  anyone  else.  My  sister  tells  me  she  never 
feels  badly  dressed  till  she  meets  Mrs.  Fielden. 

The  Melfords  have  very  pleasant  people  stopping 
with  them  always,  and  there  are  very  jolly  little 
parties  on  board  their  yacht.  Mrs.  Fielden,  how- 
ever, is  in  her  most  provoking  and  wilful  mood. 
Every  day  it  is  the  same  thing — laughter  and 
smiles  for  everyone.  But  she  has  absolutely  no 
heart.  All  the  beautiful,  kindly  things  she  does  are 
only  the  whim  of  the  moment.  They  bespeak  a 
generous  nature,  as  easily  moved  to  tears  as  to 
laughter;  but  she  loves  everyone  a  little,  and  prob- 
ably has  no  depth  of  affection  or  constancy  in  her. 
Lately  she  has  added  another  provoking  habit  to  the 

273 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

many  she  already  possesses.  She  exaggerates  her 
pretence  of  having  no  memory,  and,  indeed,  it  may 
be  she  has  not  any. 

When  I  left  home,  rather  a  wreck  as  regards 
health,  and  drove  to  the  station  in  Mrs.  Fielden's 
luxurious  carriage,  it  was  her  hand  that  piled  the 
cushions  as  no  one  else  can,  behind  me,  and  the  last 
thing  I  saw  was  her  smile  as  she  waved  her  hand  to 
me  from  my  own  door. 

Last  week,  when  we  met  again  at  the  Melfords', 
she  nodded  to  me  in  a  little  indifferent  sort  of  way. 
She  sat  under  a  big  cedar-tree  on  one  of  the  lawns, 
and  laughed  and  talked  a  sort  of  brilliant  nonsense 
the  whole  afternoon. 

By-and-by  I  said  to  her — probably  clumsily,  cer- 
tainly at  the  wrong  time — "  I  never  half  thanked 
you  for  being  so  good  to  me  when  I  was  ill ; "  for 
she  had  come  in  like  some  radiant  vision  day  after 
day  in  her  beautiful  summer  gowns  and  rose-gar- 
landed hats,  and  had  sat  by  my  couch,  reading  to 
me  sometimes,  talking  to  me  at  others  in  a  voice 
as  gentle  as  a  dove's. 

Why  will  she  not  allow  one  to  admire  her?  One 
only  wants  to  do  so  humbly  and  at  a  distance.  It 
was  so  pleasant  up  here  in  the  Highlands,  with  my 
good  sister  spoiling  me,  and  the  dear  memory  of 

274 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

those  long  days  to  look  back  upon.  But  Mrs. 
Fielden  ruthlessly  robbed  me  and  sent  me  away 
empty  the  very  first  day  of  our  meeting. 

"Was  I  kind  to  you?  I  don't  believe  I  was, 
really.  If  I  was,  I'm  sure  I  forget  all  about  it.  Let 
me  see,  how  long  were  you  ill?  It  can't  have  been 
a  bit  amusing  for  you,"  and  so  on,  laughing  at  my 
dull  face  and  serious  ways. 

And  this  has  gone  on  for  a  whole  week.  At  the 
Melfords'  parties  she  selects,  quite  indiscriminately 
and  in  a  royal  way  which  she  has  got,  this  man  or 
that  to  be  her  escort  or  her  companion.  Now  it  is 
a  mere  boy  whom  she  bewilders  with  a  few  of  her 
radiant  smiles,  and  now  one  of  her  elderly  Colonels 
whom  she  reduces  to  a  state  of  abject  admiration  in 
a  few  hours.  One  man  goes  fishing  with  her  and 
another  rows  her  on  the  loch.  A  third,  hearing  that 
Mrs.  Fielden's  life  will  be  a  blank  if  she  does  not 
possess  a  certain  rare  fern  which  may  be  found 
sometimes  on  the  hillsides  of  Scotland,  spends  a 
whole  day  scrambling  about  looking  for  it,  and 
returns  triumphant  in  the  evening.  Mrs.  Fielden 
has  forgotten  that  she  ever  wanted  it.  When  we 
sulk  she  does  not  notice  it.  When  her  Colonels  offer 
her  their  fatuous  admiration  she  goes  to  sleep,  and 
then,  waking  up,  is  so  very,  very  sorry.  "  But  you 

275 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

can't  have  amused  me  properly,"  she  says,  "  or  I 
should  have  stayed  awake."  When  anyone  tries  by 
avoiding  her  to  show  displeasure,  Mrs.  Fielden  is 
oblivious  of  the  fact.  And  when  the  penitence  and 
boredom  which  immediately  ensue  when  one  has  de- 
prived Mrs.  Fielden  of  one's  company  have  led  one 
to  end  the  one-sided  quarrel  with  an  apology,  it 
is  only  to  find  that  Mrs.  Fielden  has  been  blissfully 
unconscious  of  one's  absence.  Summer  and  the  air 
of  the  Highlands  seem  to  be  in  her  veins.  Her 
happiness,  like  the  quality  of  mercy,  is  twice  blessed, 
making  her,  through  her  talent  of  enjoyment,  diffuse 
something  beautiful  and  gay  about  her. 

After  all,  why  should  she  care?  Life  was  evi- 
dently made  to  give  her  pleasure.  Why  should  a 
woman  always  be  blamed  for  being  loved?  Mrs. 
Fielden's  charm  is  of  the  irresponsible  sort.  To  live 
and  to  be  lovely  are  all  one  ought  to  demand  of  her, 
and  at  least  she  is  without  vanity.  She  seems  to  be 
entirely  unconscious  of  the  admiration  she  receives, 
or  perhaps  she  is  simply  indifferent  to  it. 

The  Melfords  adore  her,  and  allow  her  to  see  it. 
They  say  no  one  knows  her  as  they  do.  Probably 
we  all  feel  that.  This  is  one  of  Mrs.  Fielden's  most 
maddening  charms.  We  have  all  found  something 
in  her  that  seems  to  belong  to  ourselves  alone. 

276 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

Lately  I  have  discovered  that  she  loves  to  wander 
up  the  hillside  by  herself,  and  listen  to  the  plover's 
solitary  cry,  and  sit  in  the  sunshine  with  no  com- 
panion near  her.  And  one  wonders  why  so  frivolous 
a  woman  should  care  for  this,  and  why  when  she 
comes  back  amongst  us  again  her  eyes  should  wear 
the  wistful  look  which  covers  them  like  a  veil  some- 
times. 

When  she  left  the  Melfords',  Palestrina  asked  her 
to  come  and  stay  with  us,  and,  rather  to  my  surprise, 
Mrs.  Fielden  came.  It  seems  to  me  she  must  find 
us  a  very  dull  lot  after  the  Melfords5  cheery  house- 
parties.  She  arrived  late  one  afternoon  in  the  yacht, 
and  the  whole  party  came  up  to  dine  with  us  before 
returning  to  the  castle.  The  little  house  was  taxed 
to  its  utmost  capacity,  even  to  provide  teacups  for 
our  guests;  but  the  Melfords  have  a  happy  knack 
of  seeming  to  find  pleasure  in  everything.  Mrs. 
Fielden's  gaiety  was  infectious,  and  her  light- 
heartedness  knocked  all  one's  serious  world  to 
pieces,  while  her  beauty  seemed  almost  extravagant 
in  the  plain  setting  of  the  little  house. 

She  began  to  give  us  some  of  her  experiences  in 
Scotland.  "  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  putting  on  a 
charming  gravity  and  lifting  her  eyebrows  in  a 
provoking,  childish  way,  "  that  every  single  person 

277 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

in  Scotland  gets  up  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning? 
and  all  the  coaches  and  excursions  start  at  daybreak, 
and  when  you  want  to  hit  off  what  they  call  a  '  con- 
nection '  anywhere,  you  have  to  get  up  in  the  middle 
of  the  night?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  you  had  a  horribly  early  start  to 
join  the  yacht  the  other  day,"  said  Lord  Melford, 
"  but  it  was  the  only  way  we  could  manage  to  get 
to  the  Oban  gathering  in  time." 

"  I  was  there  before  you,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden ; 
"  and  I  had  to  rouse  up  the  people  at  the  inn  to  take 
me  in  and  give  me  breakfast.  Even  they  were  not 
up  at  that  hour!  But  after  ringing  twice,  such  a 
nice  boots  came  and  opened  the  door  to  me  dressed 
in  a  pink  flannel  nightgown.  I  thought  at  first  he 
must  be  walking  in  his  sleep  because  he  didn't  try 
to  get  behind  the  door  or  conceal  himself  any- 
where." 

"  What  did  he  do?  "  said  Lord  Melford,  laughing. 

"  He  stood  on  a  very  rough,  prickly  doormat," 
said  Mrs.  Fielden,  "  and  rubbed  one  poor  bare  foot 
against  his  leg  to  keep  it  warm.  We  had  quite  a  nice 
chat,"  she  went  on.  "  And  when  I  told  him  how  hun- 
gry I  was,  he  disappeared  down  a  long  passage,  and 
dressed  himself  in  about  a  minute  and  a  half,  and 
brought  me  some  breakfast." 

278 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  The  kilt  is  a  great  educator,"  said  Thomas. 
"  No  doubt  an  English  boots  would  have  blushed." 

"  The  gathering  was  very  good  this  year,"  said 
Lord  Melford.  "Why  didn't  some  of  you  come? 
By-the-by,  your  friend  Mrs.  Macdonald  was  there. 
Indeed,  it  was  she  who  insisted  in  taking  Mrs. 
Fielden  to  the  Gaelic  concert." 

"  Gaelic  is  rather  an  alarming  language,"  said 
Mrs.  Fielden.  "  I  always  feel  as  if  I  was  being 
sworn  at  when  I  hear  it." 

One  of  Mrs.  Fielden's  admirers,  who  had  reached 
the  savage  and  sarcastic  stage,  here  interposed,  and 
said :  "  Poor  Mrs.  Fielden !  I  saw  you  at  the  con- 
cert. How  did  you  manage  to  sit  out  a  whole  evening 
between  Mrs.  Macdonald  and  a  wall?  " 

"Mrs.  Macdonald  is  quite  a  dear!"  said  Mrs. 
Fielden.  (Who,  in  the  name  of  Fortune,  would 
Mrs.  Fielden  not  find  charming?) 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  and  Mrs.  Macdonald  can 
have  found  to  talk  about,"  said  Palestrina,  laughing. 

"  We  discussed  the  training  of  servants  most  of 
the  time,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden  simply. 

Everyone  laughed;  and  my  sister,  with  a  recollec- 
tion of  our  visit  to  Mrs.  Macdonald,  said  at  once: 
"  Did  she  give  you  any  useful  household  recipes  ?  " 

"  It  is  very  odd  that  you  should  have  asked  me 
279 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

that,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden.  "  Do  you  know  that  the 
whole  of  to-day  I  have  been  puzzling  over  a  letter 
which  I  received  this  morning?  I  did  not  know 
the  handwriting,  and  it  was  merely  headed :  *  Two 
recipes  for  boiling  a  ham,  as  requested.'  Now,  I 
cannot  really  have  asked  Mrs.  Macdonald  for  recipes 
for  boiling  a  ham,  can  I?  " 

We  thought  it  highly  probable  that  she  had  done 
so,  and  had  done  it,  too,  with  an  air  of  profound 
interest;  and  I  think  we  said  this,  which  Mrs. 
Fielden  did  not  mind  in  the  least. 

"  There  is  something  rather  horrible,  don't  you 
think  so,"  she  said,  "  in  knowing  how  a  thing  is 
cooked  ?  " 

The  minister,  who  is  assiduous  in  calling,  walked 
up  after  tea  with  his  friend  Evan  Sinclair;  and  as 
we  were  already  far  too  large  a  party  for  dinner,  we 
asked  them  to  stay,  too. 

Mr.  Macorquodale  has  frequently  described  him- 
self to  us  as  a  grand  preacher.  He  and  Evan 
Sinclair  live  quite  close  to  each  other,  and  they  are 
friends  whose  affection  is  rooted  and  maintained  in 
warfare.  For  the  minister  and  Sinclair  to  meet  is 
one  strenuous  contest  as  to  who  shall  have  the  last 
word.  Politeness  is  not  a  strong  motive  with  either 
of  them — indeed,  one  would  imagine  that  from  the 

280 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

first  it  has  been  ruled  out  of  place.  The  friendship 
and  the  warfare  began  at  the  Edinburgh  High 
School  years  ago,  and  both  the  friendship  and  the 
warfare  have  lasted  without  intermission  ever  since. 
They  meet  every  day,  and  often  twice  a  day;  they 
fish  together,  and  in  the  winter  they  spend  every 
evening  at  each  other's  houses.  Scottish  people  seem 
to  have  a  sneaking  liking  for  those  who  dislike  them, 
and  a  certain  pity  mingled  with  contempt  for  those 
who  show  them  favour  and  affection.  The  friend- 
ship of  Evan  and  the  minister  is  based  upon  feelings 
of  the  most  respectful  admiration  for  their  mutual 
antipathy. 

To  keep  alive  this  laudable  and  self-respecting 
warfare  is  the  highest  effort  of  genius  of  both  Mr. 
Sinclair  and  the  Reverend  Alexander.  To  foster  it 
they  apply  themselves  to  what  they  call  "  plain 
speaking "  whenever  they  meet,  and  they  conceal 
as  much  as  possible  from  each  other  every  single 
good  quality  that  they  possess. 

The  minister,  who  is  a  big  man,  always  talks  of 
Evan  as  "  wee  Sinkler,"  and  sneers  at  "  heritors  " ; 
and  Evan  invariably  addresses  Macorquodale  as 
"  taur  barrels,"  a  name  which  he  considers  appro- 
priate to  the  minister's  black  clothes  and  portly 
figure. 

281 


A.  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  The  minister,"  said  Evan,  when  he  had  walked 
up  the  hill  to  see  us,  "  has  been  reading  Josephus. 
We  shall  have  some  erudite  learning  from  the  pulpit 
for  the  next  Sunday  or  two." 

The  minister  was  announced  a  moment  later,  and, 
before  taking  the  trouble  to  shake  hands  with  us, 
he  looked  Evan  Sinclair  over  from  top  to  toe,  and 
remarked :  "  Ye're  very  attentive  in  calling  upon 
ladies." 

"I  was  just  talking  about  your  fine  preaching," 
said  Evan. 

"  I  admit  my  gift,"  said  the  minister ;  "  but  I  fear 
that  I  very  often  preach  to  a  deaf  adder  which  stops 
its  ears."  He  nodded  triumphantly  at  us,  and  it 
then  occurred  to  him  to  shake  hands. 

Evan  said  at  once  that  he  got  a  better  sleep  in 
kirk  on  Sundays  than  he  got  during  the  whole  of 
the  week. 

"  Evan  Sinclair,"  said  the  minister,  "  if  I  find  you 
sleeping  under  me  I'll  denounce  you  from  my  pulpit, 
as  a  minister  has  the  right  to  do." 

"  And  we'll  settle  it  in  the  graveyard  afterwards," 
said  Evan  drily.  "  And  ye're  not  in  very  good  train- 
ing, my  man." 

Palestrina  broke  in  gently  to  discuss  a  theological 
point  which  had  puzzled  us  for  several  Sundays. 

282 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

On  each  Lord's  Day  as  it  came  round  we  had  prayed 
that  we  might  become  "  a  little  beatle  to  the  Lord." 
Doubtless  the  simile  is  a  beautiful  one,  but  its  imme- 
diate bearing  upon  our  needs  was  not  too  grossly 
evident.  And  it  seemed  almost  dangerous  to  those 
who  believe  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer  to  put  up  this 
petition  in  its  literal  sense.  We  had  decided  for 
some  time  past  that  on  the  first  occasion  we  should 
ask  Mr.  Macorquodale  what  it  was  exactly  for  which 
we  made  a  petition  when  we  prayed  that  we  might 
become  a  "  little  beatle  to  the  Lord." 

"  Similes,"  said  Palestrina,  in  her  serious  way, 
"  are  beautiful  sometimes,  but  we  can't  quite  under- 
stand one  of  the  references  that  you  make  in  your 
prayers  on  Sundays." 

"  We  have  prayed  so  fervently,"  said  Mrs. 
Fielden,  "  without,  perhaps,  entirely  understanding 
the  portent  of  the  petition,  that  we  might  become 
a  *  little  beatle  to  the  Lord.' " 

The  thing  was  out  now,  and  our  curiosity,  we 
hoped,  would  be  gratified.  There  was  a  pause  which 
suggested  that  our  hearers  were  puzzled,  and  then 
Mr.  Sinclair  put  a  large  pocket-handkerchief  into 
his  mouth  and  roared  with  laughter,  and  Mr. 
Macorquodale  turned  to  my  sister,  who  was  trem- 
bling now,  and  remarked,  in  an  awful  voice,  that 

283 


A  Lame    Dog's    Diary 

he  wondered  that  we  didn't  understand  plain 
English. 

Of  course  she  apologized,  and  an  explanation  came 
afterwards  from  Evan  Sinclair,  who  told  us  that  the 
Minister's  prayer  was  that  we — the  church — might 
become  a  little  Bethel,  and  that  Beethel  was  his  Doric 
pronunciation  of  the  word. 

It  began  to  rain  on  Sunday,  as  it  often  does  in 
Scotland — Nature  itself  seems  to  put  on  a  more 
serious  expression  on  the  Sabbath — and  it  continued 
raining  for  four  whole  days.  The  rain  came  down 
steadily  and  mercilessly,  shutting  out  the  view  of 
the  hills  and  turning  the  whole  landscape  into  a  big, 
damp  gray  blanket.  "  I  suppose,"  said  Mrs. 
Fielden,  who  is  never  affected  by  bad  weather,  "  that 
we  shall  all  get  very  cross  and  quarrel  with  each 
other  if  the  rain  continues  much  longer." 

"  I  think  I  shall  write  a  number  of  unnecessary 
letters  to  absent  friends,"  said  Palestrina.  "  And 
Mr.  Ellicomb  and  Sir  Anthony  Crawshay  will  arrive 
to-morrow,  and  we  must  tell  them  to  amuse  us." 

It  was  a  disappointment  to  find  that  Mr.  Elli- 
comb's  nerves  and  temper  were  seriously  affected  by 
the  weather,  and  in  moments  of  extreme  depression 
his  low  spirits  vented  themselves  in  a  rabid  abuse 
of  the  Presbyterian  Kirk.  I  cannot  understand  why 

284 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

Ellicomb  should  elect  to  wear  a  brown  velvet 
shooting- jacket,  and  a  pale-green  tie,  and  neat  boots 
laced  half-way  up  his  legs,  in  Scotland.  He  went  to 
the  village  church  in  the  rain  on  Sunday,  and  he  has 
not  been  the  same  man  since. 

"  Don't  call  it  a  church ! "  he  cried,  as  we  went 
homewards  up  the  hill  where  the  road  was  a  water- 
course and  each  tree  poured  down  moisture.  He 
seemed  to  think  that  he  had  done  his  soul  an 
irreparable  injury  by  entering  a  Presbyterian 
kirk. 

Anthony  said :  "  Oh !  don't  be  an  ass,  Ellicomb." 
But  even  on  Monday  morning  poor  Ellicomb  was 
still  suffering  from  the  weather  and  the  effects  of 
his  church-going. 

"Can  he  be  in  love?"  said  Palestrina;  "and  if 
so,  as  the  Jamiesons  would  say,  which  is  it?  " 

Palestrina  is  pinker  and  prettier  than  ever  since 
her  marriage.  She  still  says :  "  Oh,  that  will  be 
delightful ! "  to  whatever  Thomas  and  I  suggest, 
and  she  never  seems  to  have  any  occupation  except 
to  be  with  us  when  we  want  her,  and  to  accede 
to  everything  we  say,  which,  of  course,  from  a 
man's  point  of  view,  is  a  very  delightful  trait  in  a 
woman. 

"  I  rather  wonder,"  said  Palestrina,  "  that  I  have 
285 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

not  heard  from  any  of  the  Jamiesons  lately.  They 
are  usually  such  good  writers." 

"  Depend  upon  it,  there  is  a  great  bit  of  news 
coming,"  said  Thomas.  "  The  Jamiesons  always 
maintain  a  dramatic  silence  just  before  announcing 
some  tremendous  piece  of  intelligence." 

Thomas  had  hardly  spoken  the  words  before  a 
telegram  was  handed  to  Palestrina,  containing  the 
following  enigmatical  words: 

"  Engaged  Cuthbertson.  Greatly  surprised. 
Deeply  thankful.— ELIZA." 

This  rather  mysterious  message  was  followed  later 
in  the  day  by  a  letter  four  pages  in  length,  and 
marked  on  the  outside,  for  some  reason  best  known 
to  Eliza,  "  Immediate."  The  letter  explained  more 
fully  the  cause  of  Eliza's  thankfulness,  and  who  it 
was  that  was  greatly  surprised. 

"  If  you  had  told  me,"  wrote  Eliza,  "  six  weeks 
ago,  that  I  should  now  be  engaged  to  Mr.  Cuthbert- 
son, I  should  hardly  have  believed  it.  I  really  had 
not  a  notion  that  he  cared  for  me  until  he  actually 
said  the  words.  Is  it  not,  too,  strange  to  think  that 
perhaps,  after  all,  Maud  may  be  one  of  the  last  of 
us  to  get  married  ?  " 

Here  followed  the  usual  descriptive  catalogue,  so 
characteristic  of  the  Jamiesons'  letters.  "  Mr.  Cuth- 

286 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

bertson  looks  like  a  widower,  though  he  is  not  one." 
Strangely  enough,  I  could  never  think  of  any  other 
words,  when  I  came  to  know  Mr.  Cuthbertson,  that 
described  him  so  well  as  these,  and  I  can  only 
account  for  it  by  saying  that  the  man's  deep  melan- 
choly and  the  crape  band  that  he  habitually  wore 
round  his  hat  must  have  given  one  the  feeling  that 
at  some  time  Mr.  Cuthbertson  must  have  suffered  a 
heavy  bereavement.  "  I  have  only  known  him," 
Eliza's  letter  went  on,  "  for  six  weeks,  but  even  that 
time  has  shown  me  his  worth.  He  has  a  very  straight 
nose  and  a  black  beard,  and  his  forehead  is  distinctly 
intellectual.  I  met  him  first  at  Mrs.  Darcey-Jacobs', 
where,  as  you  know,  I  had  gone  to  stay  to  catalogue 
their  library,  and  to  do  a  little  typewriting  for  her. 
You  know,  of  course,  that  she  has  become  a  member 
of  the  S.R.S.,  and  their  library  is  a  mine  of  infor- 
mation. 

"  At  first  I  was  afraid  to  say,  or  even  to  allow 
myself  to  think,  he  showed  me  any  preference,  but 
Maud  thought  from  the  first  that  he  was  struck,  and 
I  asked  her  not  to  appear  at  all  until  everything  was 
settled,  for  you  know  how  attractive  she  is.  But  I 
really  don't  think  that  even  then  I  thought  that 
there  was  anything  serious  in  it."  (For  an  intelli- 
gent woman  Eliza's  letter  strikes  one  as  being 

287 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

strangely  lacking  in  concentration.)  "  I  have  just 
been  to  the  meeting  of  the  Browning  Society — our 
first  appearance  in  public  together — and  I  read  my 
paper  on  *  The  Real  Strafford,'  but  I  could  hardly 
keep  my  voice  steady  all  the  time.  I  wear  his  own 
signet-ring  for  the  present,  but  we  are  going  up  to 
London  next  week,  when  he  will  buy  me  a  hoop  of 
pearls.  I  am  sure  that  you  will  be  glad  to  hear  that 
he  is  comfortably  off.  When  the  right  man  comes 
preconceived  objections  to  matrimony  vanish,  but  it 
must  be  the  right  man" 

Palestrina  said  that  she  was  "  thrilled  "  to  hear  of 
Eliza's  engagement,  because  an  engagement  was 
always  thrilling,  and  she  instantly  went  to  tell  the 
news  to  Mr.  Ellicomb.  She  told  me  afterwards  that 
when  she  had  said  that  one  of  the  Jamiesons  was 
engaged,  Mr.  Ellicomb  became  suddenly  very  pale  in 
his  complexion,  and  exclaimed,  in  a  most  anxious  tone 
of  voice:  "Which?" 

The  cold  weather  has  set  in  very  suddenly,  and 
already  there  is  a  sprinkling  of  snow  on  some  of  the 
distant  hills.  The  robins  still  sing  cheerily,  but  the 
gulls  on  the  shore,  flying  over  the  yellow  seaweed, 
call  to  each  other  plaintively  in  the  gray  of  the  early 
twilight.  The  heavy-winged  herons  stand  in  an  atti- 

288 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

tude  of  serious  thought  for  hours  on  the  cold  rocks ; 
then,  as  if  suddenly  making  up  their  minds  to  some- 
thing, they  stretch  out  their  red  legs  behind  them, 
and  flop  with  large  wings  over  the  waters  of  the  loch. 
The  red  Virginian  creeper  on  the  walls  has  begun  to 
drop  its  leaves  regretfully  after  a  night  or  two  of 
white  frost,  and  the  dahlias  hang  their  heads,  heavy 
with  the  moisture  which  their  cups  contain.  The 
sun  wakes  late  in  the  mornings  now,  but  shines  strong 
and  warm  when  it  does  get  up.  Cottage  lights  and 
fires  burn  cheerily  o'  nights,  and  within  the  cottages 
the  old  folks  and  the  young  ones  draw  round  the 
fires  and  speak  eerily  of  wraiths  and  whaurlochs,  and 
some  will  tell  of  death-lights  which  they  have  seen 
on  the  lonely  shore  road.  The  herring  fishers,  who 
sail  away  in  the  early  twilight,  wear  good  stout  jer- 
seys now  and  red  woollen  "  crauvats,"  which  the 
"  wumman  at  hame "  has  knitted.  The  Lord  has 
sailed  away  to  Dunoon  to  lay  up  for  the  winter,  and 
the  shepherds  have  gone  away  down  South  "  to  winter 
the  hogs."  The  shepherds'  wives  sit  alone  in  the  little 
hillside  cottages  away  up  on  the  face  of  the  brae, 
and  "  mak  dae  "  with  their  slender  money  till  their 
men  come  home  again. 

The  old  women  in  the  village  have  begun  their 
winter  spinning,  and  the  tap,  tap,  tap  of  the  treadle 

289 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

on  the  floor  gives  a  pleasant  sound  as  one  passes 
outside  on  the  dark  road.  Old  men  tell  tales  of 
snow  in  the  passes  in  winter  time,  and  of  death 
on  the  bleak  hillsides,  and  some  wife  shuddering 
will  say,  "  Aye,  I  mind  I  saw  his  corp-licht  the 
very  evening  he  was  lost."  And  then  they  tell 
tales  of  fantasy  and  signs  and  premonitions  of 
death. 

The  Finlaysons  are  going  to  wind  up  their  very 
successful  autumn  in  the  Highlands  by  giving  what 
they  insist  upon  calling  a  gillies'  dance,  though 
probably  the  revels  will  mostly  be  indulged  in  by 
their  large  retinue  of  English  servants.  Good-na- 
tured old  Finlayson  has  more  than  once  said  that  he 
hopes  we  shall  all  come  to  the  gillies'  dance,  and  that 
it  will  give  ourselves  and  our  guests  a  chance  of 
seeing  some  Highland  customs.  A  good  many  of  us 
come  to  Scotland  most  years  and  have  seen  gillies 
and  pipers  before,  but  our  good-natured  neighbours 
certainly  out-distance  anyone  I  know  in  their  High- 
land sympathies. 

They  invited  us  to  dine  with  them  before  the  dance 
should  begin,  and  six  of  us  went,  feeling  very  like 
the  Jamiesons,  and  resolved  that  when  we  got  home 
we  should  never  put  a  limit  to  their  numbers  when 
we  send  them  an  invitation  again. 

290 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

We  talk  of  returning  home  at  the  end  of  next 
week,  and  Mrs.  Fielden  and  our  other  two  guests  are 
leaving  on  Monday,  I  believe. 

Mrs.  Fielden  looks  much  prettier  in  the  Highlands, 
I  think,  than  anywhere  else.  One  used  to  imagine 
that  nothing  would  suit  her  half  so  well  as  her 
favourite  wide  hats,  with  the  roses  on  them  that  she 
used  to  wear  in  the  summer  time — except,  perhaps, 
the  dark  habit  and  the  long  riding-boots  which  she 
loves  to  tap  with  her  hunting-crop.  And  yet  there 
is  something  so  fresh  and  bouyant  and  splendidly 
youthful  about  this  beautiful  woman  that  it  is  im- 
possible not  to  feel  that,  after  all,  nothing  suits  her 
so  well  as  the  boating  dresses,  with  some  sort  of  loose 
bodice  or  shirt — I  do  not  know  what  it  is  called — 
which  she  wears  when  rowing,  or  the  well-cut  tweed 
in  which  one  sees  her  swinging  over  the  moors. 
Young  Finlayson  is  in  love  with  her,  and  I  believe 
has  offered  her  his  heart  and  the  ironmongery  busi- 
ness with  it;  but  I  think  of  all  her  lovers  Anthony 
Crawshay  is  the  one  she  likes  best.  He  is  the  only 
one  for  whom  her  moods  never  alter,  and  to  whom 
she  is  always  gracious  and  charming  and  sweet. 
Perhaps  it  is  in  a  quiet,  less  radiant  way  than  that 
in  which  she  treats  others,  but  it  is  with  a  quiet 
loving-kindness  which  I  have  not  seen  her  bestow 

291 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

elsewhere.  And  Anthony  Crawshay  is  a  good  fellow 
— one  of  the  best. 

Old  Mr.  Finlayson  actually  donned  a  kilt  for  the 
gillies'  dance;  young  Finlayson  also  wore  the  na- 
tional dress,  and  Thomas  tells  me  that  they  have 
sported  the  Macdonald  tartan,  and  wants  to  know 
why.  Old  Finlayson  met  us  at  the  door  of  his  baro- 
nial hall  in  a  clannish,  feudal  sort  of  way,  and,  seiz- 
ing his  Glengarry  bonnet  from  his  head,  he  flung 
it  down  upon  the  oak  settle  in  the  hall,  and  exclaimed, 
in  hearty  accents :  "  Welcome  to  the  Glen."  The 
Miss  Finlaysons  wore  sashes  of  royal  Stuart  tartan 
put  plaidwise  across  their  shoulders.  Mrs.  Finlayson 
was  dressed  in  a  very  regal  manner,  which  I  cannot 
attempt  to  describe,  and  her  platform  voice  was  in 
use  throughout  the  entire  evening. 

Ellicomb  said  the  dance  was  barbaric,  but  Thomas 
enjoyed  the  evening  immensely,  and  so  did  Crawshay, 
who  said  in  his  hearty  way :  "  The  Finlaysons  did  us 
uncommonly  well,"  and  shouted  out,  "  Not  at  all  bad 
people,  not  at  all  bad." 

After  dinner  old  Finlayson  showed  us  all  the  pic- 
tures in  the  hall  by  the  light  of  a  long  wax  taper 
which  he  held  above  his  head,  and  he  pointed  out 
the  beauties  of  the  house  in  a  proprietary  way,  even 
to  Evan  himself,  to  whom  the  place  belongs.  Evan 

292 


A   Lame    Dog's    Diary 

Sinclair,  in  a  shabby  green  doublet,  accepted  all  Mr. 
Finlayson's  wildest  statements  about  his  own  house 
with  a  queer,  humorous  grin  on  his  face,  and  sub- 
mitted to  being  patronized  by  the  Miss  Finlaysons, 
whose  commercial  instincts,  no  doubt,  caused  them  to 
despise  a  young  man  who  was  obliged  to  let  his  place. 

One  of  the  Highland  axioms  which  the  Finlay- 
sons have  accepted  is  that  "  a  man's  a  man  for  a* 
that,"  and  they  shook  hands  with  everyone  in  an 
effusive  way,  and  condescended  to  a  queer  sort  of 
familiarity  with  the  boatmen  and  keepers  about  the 
place.  The  daughters  of  the  house,  with  flying 
tartan  ribbons,  swung  the  young  gillies  about  in 
the  intricate  figures  of  the  hoolichan,  and  talked  to 
them  with  a  heartiness  which  one  would  hardly  have 
thought  possible  of  the  Clarkham  young  ladies. 
The  Finlaysons  had  a  number  of  English  guests 
staying  in  the  house  for  the  dance.  These  all  made 
the  same  joke  when  the  pipes  began  to  play.  "  Is 
the  pig  being  killed?  "  they  asked,  and  looked  very 
pleased  with  their  own  ready  wit. 

Red-headed  Evan  Sinclair  carried  his  old  green 
doublet  and  battered  silver  ornaments  very  well,  and 
his  neat  dancing  was  in  pleasant  contrast  to  the 
curious  bounds  and  leaps  of  the  Finlaysons.  Old 
Mr.  Finlayson  spent  his  evening  strutting  about  in 

293 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

a  kindly,  important  fashion,  and  in  making  Athole 
brose  after  a  recipe  supplied  by  Tyne  Drum,  who 
superintended  the  brewing  of  it  himself. 

I  hope  I  am  not  fanciful  when  I  say  that  the  pipes 
when  I  hear  them  have  to  me  something  irresistibly 
sad  about  them,  and  that  they  conjure  up  many 
fantasies  in  my  head  which  I  am  half  ashamed 
to  put  down  on  paper.  They  seem  to  me  to  gather 
up  in  their  bitter  sobbings  all  the  sorrows  of  a  people 
who  have  suffered  much  and  have  said  very  little 
about  it.  There  is  the  cry  in  them  of  children  dying 
in  the  lonely  glens  in  winter-time  when  the  wind 
howls  round  the  clachan  and  the  snow  fills  the  passes. 
One  almost  sees  the  little  procession  of  black-coated 
men  bearing  away  a  tiny  burden  from  the  cottage 
door  into  the  whiteness  beyond,  with  its  one  heaped- 
up  patch  of  brown  earth  on  either  side  of  the  little 
grave.  They  wail,  too,  of  the  killing  time,  when  the 
Covenanters  were  crushed,  but  never  broken,  under 
persecution;  and  one  seems  to  see  the  defiant  gray- 
haired  old  men,  with  their  splendid  obstinacy,  un- 
moved by  threats — not  defiant,  but  simply  unbreak- 
able. Thinking  of  the  Covenanters  as  they  pass 
slowly  before  one  to  the  sighing  of  the  pipes,  one 
wonders  if  it  is  possible  to  punish  by  death  the  man 
who  is  content  to  die? 

294 


rA  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

The  tuneful  reeds  sob  out,  too,  the  story  of  the 
Prince  for  whom  so  many  brave  men  bled,  and  they 
tell  again  of  the  days  of  song,  and  of  noble  legends 
and  deeds  of  daring,  when  the  nation  spent  its 
passionate  love  on  its  King.  "  Come  back !  come 
back ! "  The  desolate  cry  of  the  times.  Almost  one 
seems  to  hear  it  sounding  across  the  hills,  and  it 
seems  to  me  that  all  that  it  is  so  hard  to  speak,  so 
hard  even  to  look,  may  perhaps  be  told  in  music, 
and  I  think  loyalty  and  love  speak  very  beautifully 
in  the  old  Jacobite  airs. 

Again,  as  Evan's  piper  marches  up  and  down  in 
the  moonlight  playing  a  lament,  the  romance  of  life 
seems  lost  in  the  hardness  of  it,  its  stress  and  its 
loss.  "  Hame,  hame,  hame ! "  the  pipes  sob  forth, 
crying  for  the  homes  that  are  sold  to  strangers  and 
for  the  hills  and  the  glens  which  pass  away  from  the 
old  hands.  It  is  "  Good-bye,  good-bye,"  an  eternity 
of  farewells.  And  still,  wherever  life  is  most  diffi- 
cult, comforts  most  few,  work  most  hard,  in  the  dis- 
tant parts  of  the  world,  are  the  Scottish  exiles.  But 
I  know  that  all  the  world  over  the  sons  of  the  heather 
and  the  mist,  in  however  distant  or  alien  lands  they 
may  be,  feel  always,  as  they  steer  their  way  through 
life,  that  there  is  a  pole  star  by  which  they  set  their 
compass,  and  that  some  day,  perhaps,  they  or  their 

295 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

children  may  steer  the  boat  to  a  haven  on  some 
rocky  shore,  where  the  whaup  calls  shrilly  on  the 
moors  above  the  loch,  and  the  heather  grows  strong 
and  tough  on  the  hillside,  and  the  peat  reek  rises 
almost  like  the  incense  of  an  evening  prayer  against 
a  gray,  soft  sky  in  the  land  of  the  North. 

I  suppose  that  even  in  a  diary  I  have  no  business 
to  mix  this  up  with  an  account  of  the  Finlaysons* 
dance. 

Palestrina  came  up  to  me,  after  conscientiously 
dancing  reels  with  Thomas,  looking  very  pink  and 
pretty,  and  thoughtful  of  me,  as  usual. 

"  Don't  stay  longer  than  you  feel  inclined,"  she 
said.  "  I  told  them  to  come  for  you  in  the  dog-cart, 
and  to  wait  about  for  you  between  twelve  and  one." 

"  I  will  take  a  turn  down  on  the  shore,"  I  said, 
"  and  have  a  cigar,  and  then  I  will  come  back  and  see 
how  you  are  getting  on." 

Palestrina  gave  me  my  crutch,  and  I  went  down 
towards  the  loch,  which  looked  like  a  sheet  of  silver 
in  the  moonlight,  and  I  found  Anthony  and  Mrs. 
Fielden  sitting  on  a  garden  bench  beneath  some  wind- 
torn  beeches  by  the  shore.  To-night  there  was  not 
a  breath  of  air  stirring,  and  Mrs.  Fielden  had  only 
thrown  a  light  wrap  round  her. 

"  Have  you  come  to  tell  me  that  I  am  to  go  in  and 
296 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

dance  reels  with  old  Mr.  Finlayson?"  she  said.  "It 
is  really  so  much  pleasanter  out  here.  Do  sit  down 
and  talk  to  Sir  Anthony  and  me." 

(She  would  never  ha.ve  allowed  one  to  know  that 
one  was  in  the  way,  even  if  one  had  interrupted  a 
proposal  of  marriage.) 

Anthony  made  room  for  me  on  the  bench,  and 
said  heartily :  "  I  am  awfully  glad  to  see  you  able  to 
sit  up  like  this,  Hugo.  Why,  man,  you're  getting  as 
strong  as  a  horse !  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right  again,"  I  said.  "  I'll  begin  to 
grow  a  new  leg  soon.  And  the  first  thing  I  mean 
to  do  when  that  happens  is  to  dance  reels  like  the 
Finlaysons." 

"  I  believe  I  ought  to  be  going  in  to  supper  now 
with  Mr.  ,  Finlayson,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden.  "  Does 
anyone  know  what  time  it  is?  He  said  he  would 
'  conduct  me  to  the  dining-hall '  at  twelve  o'clock." 

**  It  is  a  quarter  past  now,"  said  Anthony,  looking 
at  his  watch  in  the  moonlight.  "  Don't  go  in,  Mrs. 
Fielden.  Wait  out  here,  and  talk  to  Hugo  and  me." 

But  old  Finlayson  in  his  kilt  had  tracked  us  to 
our  seat  underneath  the  beech-trees,  and  he  took 
instant  possession  of  our  fair  neighbour,  and  told  us 
to  follow  presently.  He  thought  all  the  supper- 
tables  were  full  just  now. 

297 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  We  shan't  eat  everything  before  you  come,"  said 
hospitable  old  Finlayson,  walking  away  with  his 
beautiful  partner  on  his  arm. 

Mrs.  Fielden  was  dressed  in  white  satin,  with  some 
pretty  soft  stuff  about  her,  and  she  wore  some  white 
heather  in  her  hair. 

"  What  a  good  sort  she  is ! "  said  Anthony,  in  a 
loud  voice,  almost  before  Mrs.  Fielden  was  out  of 
hearing.  It  wasn't,  perhaps,  the  most  poetical 
way  that  he  could  have  put  it,  but  one  didn't 
want  or  expect  Anthony  to  express  himself  poet- 
ically. 

"  Utterly  spoilt ! "  I  replied,  because  at  that 
moment  I  happened  to  be  feeling  supremely  miser- 
able, and  I  did  not  want  Anthony  to  know  it. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  he  replied ;  "  and  you  know  that  as 
well  as  I  do,  old  chap." 

"  Allow  me,  Anthony,"  I  said,  "  to  be  as  savage  as 
I  like ;  it  is  one  of  the  privileges  of  a  cripple." 

"  Oh,  blow  cripples ! "  said  Anthony.  "  You  will 
be  shooting  next  autumn,  man." 

"  And  what  will  you  be  doing?  "  I  said.  I  rather 
hoped  in  this  manner  to  elicit  a  confidence.  After 
all,  we  have  been  pals  all  our  lives,  and  I  think 
Anthony  might  tell  me  about  it  if  there  is  anything 
to  teU. 

298 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

"  Oh,  I'll  be  shooting,  too,  I  suppose,"  said 
Anthony. 

We  smoked  for  some  time  in  silence. 

And  then  Anthony  began,  and  said  that  he  had 
enjoyed  himself  amazingly  up  here  in  the  North,  and 
he  went  on  to  say  a  good  word  for  everyone.  Old 
Finlayson  had  been  a  brick  about  his  shooting  and 
deer-stalking,  and  it  was  beastly  hard  luck  that  I 
hadn't  been  able  to  come,  too.  The  minister  wasn't  a 
bad  fellow,  even  when  he  was  jocose,  and  Evan  Sin- 
clair was  one  of  the  best :  and  so  on. 

"  What  shall  you  be  doing  when  you  go  back, 
Anthony?  "  I  said,  harking  back  to  my  old  question 
and  hoping  for  more  information  than  I  actually 
asked  for.  "  Are  you  going  straight  home?  " 

"  I'll  be  at  the  first  shoot  at  Stanby.  Shall  you 
be  there?" 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  I  said.  "  I  haven't  learned  to 
do  cross-stitch  yet,  and  I'm  sure  all  the  women  would 
think  me  a  great  bore,  sitting  about  in  their  morn- 
ing-rooms all  day.  Except  Mrs.  Fielden,  of  course ! 
Mrs.  Fielden  would  probably  persuade  me  into  think- 
ing that  the  only  thing  that  made  her  house-party 
successful,  or  had  saved  herself  from  boredom,  was 
the  presence  of  a  lame  man  in  the  house." 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  quite  just  about  Mrs. 
299 


A   Lame   Dog's   Diary 

Fielden,  Hugo,"  said  Anthony,  moving  rather  re- 
sentfully on  the  garden  bench. 

"  That  doesn't  matter  much,"  I  replied.  "  One 
voice  will  not  be  missed  much  from  the  general  chorus 
of  praise  that  follows  Mrs.  Fielden  wherever  she 
goes." 

"  No ;  but  still "  began  Anthony ;  and  then  he 

stopped,  and  we  smoked  on  for  some  time  without 
speaking.  "  You  see,"  he  began  at  last,  "  she  is  the 
best  friend  I  ever  had."  He  did  not  lower  his  voice, 
because  I  suppose  Anthony  finds  it  impossible  to  do 
so,  but  went  on  steadily :  "  You  see,  I  once  cared  for 
a  little  cousin  of  hers,  and  she  died  when  she  was 
eighteen.  I  don't  think  anybody  ever  knew  about  it 
except  Mrs.  Fielden.  But  she  knows  how  much  cut 
up  I  was,  and  I  suppose  that  is  why  she  is  so  nice  to 
me  always." 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,  old  chap !  "  I  said. 

"  I  never  meant  to  speak  about  it,"  said  Anthony, 
in  a  brisk,  cheerful  voice.  "  Oh,  don't  you  bother 
about  it,  Hugo!  I  mean  I'm  awfully  keen  about 
hunting,  and  I  have  an  excellent  time,  only  I  don't 
suppose  I  will  ever  care  for  anyone  else." 

"  Thanks  for  telling  me,  Tony." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  said  anything  about  it,"  said 
Anthony,  "  if  it  hadn't  been  for  what  you  said  about 

300 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

Mrs.  Fielden.  Y'see,  she  has  been  so  awfully  good 
to  me,  and  I  don't  think  you  quite  understand  all 
she  is  really." 

"  Why,  man,"  I  cried,  "  I  love  her  with  every  bit 
of  my  heart !  And  I  worship  her — how  does  one  say 
one  worships  a  woman  ? — as  if  she  were  the  sun ! " 

And  I  think  that  was  the  very  first  moment  that  I 
knew  I  loved  Mrs.  Fielden. 


301 


Chapter  XIX 

THE  minister  and  Evan  Sinclair  came  to  say  good- 
bye; the  minister  has  accepted  our  approaching  de- 
parture with  his  usual  philosophy.  "  You  would 
soon  tire  of  this  place  in  the  winter-time,"  he  said. 
"  And  even  looking  at  it  from  the  other  point  of  view, 
I  believe  that  summer  visitors  should  not  prolong 
their  stay  above  a  few  months.  I  admit  that  we 
have  enjoyed  your  sojourn  amongst  us;  but  were 
you  and  your  sister  to  become  residenters  in  the 
place,  our  intercourse  would  have  to  be  reconstructed 
from  the  foundation."  The  minister  crossed  his 
legs,  and,  without  being  pressed  to  continue  the  sub- 
ject, he  went  on:  "There  is  a  certain  convention- 
ality, not  to  say  forbearance,  admitted  and  allowed 
between  friends  with  whom  one's  acquaintance  is  to 
be  short ;  but  there  is  a  basis  stronger  than  that  upon 
which  any  lengthy  friendship  must  be  made." 

"  And  that  basis  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  That  basis,  I  take  it,"  said  the  minister,  "  should 
be  a  straightforward  disregard  for  one  another.  I 
do  not  believe  in  politeness  between  near  neighbours ; 
it  cannot  last." 

302 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

'*  I  had  hoped,"  said  Palestrina,  pouting  a  little, 
"  that  you  would  all  miss  us,  Mr.  Macorquodale." 

"  We  shall  miss  you,"  said  the  minister  quickly, 
"  but  with  judgment.  We  shall  see  the  merits  as 
well  as  the  demerits  of  the  case.  For  instance,  one 
of  your  friends  cost  me  a  sovereign  for  a  favourite 
charity  of  hers." 

Mr.  Sinclair  said  very  kindly,  blinking  his  fair 
eyelashes  in  a  shy  way :  "  Well,  I  know  I  shall  miss 
you.  The  place  will  seem  very  dull  with  only 
Alexander  and  me  left  in  it." 

"  7  shall  have  my  wife,"  said  the  minister  brutally. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Sinclair ;  "  and  her  mother !  You 
have  kept  that  pretty  dark  from  us,  Taur  Barrels." 

"  It  is  only  a  visit,"  said  Mr.  Macorquodale 
shortly.  And  he  went  on  in  a  truculent  tone :  "  And 
I  need  not  have  her  unless  I  want  to." 

"  I  hear  she  is  strict,"  murmured  Evan.  "  I  hope 
you  will  be  allowed  to  look  out  of  the  window  on  the 
Sabbath,  my  man." 

"  I  am  master  in  my  own  house,"  said  Mr.  Macor- 
quodale magnificently. 

"  Believe  me,"  said  Evan,  "  that's  a  courtesy  title, 
supported  by  no  valid  claim,  and  still  less  precedent. 
A  man  never  has  been  master  of  his  own  house  when 
there  is  a  mistress  in  it.  I  remember  when  my 

303 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

brother  got  married  he  had  just  your  very  ideas,  and 
he  gave  his  wife  the  keys  of  the  linen-press  and  the 
store  cupboard,  ( But  the  rest  of  the  bunch,'  he 
said,  *  I  keep  to  myself.'  And  he  put  them  all  in 
his  pocket.  It  was  not  six  months  after  that,"  said 
Evan,  "  that  I  went  to  stay  with  them,  and  I  heard 
him  ask  my  sister-in-law  if  she  would  mind  his  having 
two  pocket-handkerchiefs  on  Sundays." 

Palestrina  and  I  were  alone,  for  Ellicomb  had  left 
us  a  few  days  before,  and  we  hear  from  the  Jamie- 
sons  that  he  is  a  daily  visitor  at  their  house.  Thomas 
and  Anthony  were  out  shooting,  and  Mrs.  Fielden 
had  gone  for  a  walk  over  the  hills. 

"  I  have  a  thousand  things  to  do,"  said  Palestrina, 
when  Evan  and  the  minister  had  departed. 

"  I  also  have  a  thousand  things  to  do,"  I  replied. 

"  Don't  tire  yourself,"  said  Palestrina.  "  What 
are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  re-write  my  diary,"  I  said. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  said  Palestrina,  "  that  would  be 
the  work  of  months." 

"  I  am  only  going  to  correct  all  the  mistakes  I 
have  made  in  it,"  I  replied ;  and  I  took  my  book  and  a 
pen  and  went  and  sat  in  the  little  room  on  the  ground 
floor  which  they  call  my  den. 

We  once  had  an  old  aunt,  Palestrina  and  I,  who 
304 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

kept  a  diary  all  her  life,  and  when  any  of  the  relatives 
whom  she  mentioned  in  its  pages  came  to  die,  she 
used  to  go  through  all  the  back  numbers  of  her 
journal  and  insert  affectionate  epithets  in  front  of 
the  names  of  the  deceased.  For  instance  (my  aunt's 
existence  was  not  marked  by  any  thrilling  events), 
the  entry  would  perhaps  be  as  follows :  "  Maria  was 
late  for  breakfast  this  morning.  In  the  afternoon 
she  had  her  singing-lesson,  and  afterwards  we  did 
some  shopping,  when  Maria  tried  on  her  new  gown." 
But  the  amended  entry  after  Maria's  death  would  be, 
"  Our  darling  Maria  was  a  (little)  late  for  breakfast 
this  morning;  in  the  afternoon  she  had  her  singing- 
lesson  " — and  here  would  probably  be  a  footnote 
praising  Maria's  voice — "  afterwards  we  did  some 
shopping,  and  " — Maria  struck  out — "  my  sweet  girl 
tried  on  her  new  gown."  Anyone's  death,  or  even 
a  successful  marriage  of  one  of  the  family,  would 
cause  her  to  revise  and  correct  her  diary  in  this  way, 
and  she  used  to  fan  the  wet  ink  with  a  piece  of 
blotting-paper  to  make  it  dry  black,  and  thus  pre- 
vent posterity  knowing  that  the  words  written  over 
the  lines  were  an  afterthought  induced  by  subse- 
quent events. 

It  was  manifestly  an  unfair  way  of  keeping  a 
diary.     But  I  can  claim  her  example  and  hereditary 

305 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

taint  as  an  excuse  for  my  own  dishonesty  this  after- 
noon. I  read  through  my  diary  with  a  sense  of  utter 
shame,  and  wherever  I  found,  for  instance,  that  I 
had  said  that  Mrs.  Fielden  was  frivolous,  or  even 
that  she  raised  her  eyebrows  in  an  affected  way,  I 
corrected  the  misstatement  by  the  light  of  the  mag- 
nificent discovery  I  had  made,  that  Mrs.  Fielden  was 
faultless,  and  that  I  loved  her.  Oh!  the  beauty  of 
this  woman  and  her  blessed  kindness!  the  cunning 
with  which  she  conceals  her  unselfishness,  and  her 
ridiculous  attempts  at  pretending  she  is  frivolous  or 
worldly. 

Alas !  there  were  so  many  misstatements  to  correct, 
and  so  many  dear  adjectives  to  fill  it,  that  I  was  not 
half  way  through  my  task  before  Mrs.  Fielden  her- 
self tapped  at  the  window  and  looked  in. 

I  believe  I  must  have  grinned  foolishly,  but  what  I 
wanted  to  do  was  to  stretch  out  my  arms  to  the 
beautiful  vision  framed  in  the  hectic  Virginian 
creeper  round  the  window  and  call  out  to  her  to 
come  to  me. 

Mrs.  Fielden  came  in  for  a  minute  and  said,  with 
the  adorable  lif  t  of  the  eyebrows :  "  I  have  been  edu- 
cating a  pair  of  young  boots  by  walking  through  all 
the  bogs  on  the  hillside.  Listen,  they  are  quite  full 
of  water."  She  raised  herself  on  her  toes  with  a 

306 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

squelching  sound  of  the  leather,  and  gave  one  of  her 
joyous  soft  laughs. 

"You  must  change  directly,"  I  said,  with  an 
idiotic  sense  of  proprietorship. 

"  When  I  have  done  so,  I  think  I  shall  come  and 
have  tea  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden.  And  of  course 
then  I  knew  that  she  had  come  home  early  on  pur- 
pose to  have  tea  with  me,  and  that  probably  she  had 
given  up  something  else  which  she  wanted  to  do  in 
order  that  she  might  sit  by  me  when  I  was  alone — 
because,  of  course,  I  have  found  Mrs.  Fielden  out 
now,  and  exposed  her  hypocrisy. 

Fortunately,  she  took  nearly  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
to  change  her  wet  boots,  and  this  gave  me  time  to 
ask  myself  why  I  was  behaving  like  a  raving  idiot, 
because  I  had  found  out  that  Mrs.  Fielden  was 
absolutely  perfect,  and  that  I  loved  her. 

It  was  quite  the  worst  quarter  of  an  hour  that  I 
have  ever  spent,  because  in  it  I  had  time  to  re- 
member that  I  was  a  crippled  man  with  one  leg,  and 
that  Mrs.  Fielden  was  a  beautiful  young  woman, 
whom,  of  course,  everyone  loved,  and  that  she  owned 
an  old  historical  place  called  Stanby,  and  probably 
— I  realized  this  also — she  would  continue  to  come 
over  and  sit  with  a  dull  man  and  bewilder  him  with 
her  beauty  and  her  kindness  only  so  long  as  he  did 

307 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

not  allow  her  to  know  the  supremely  impertinent  fact 
that  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  her. 

I  must  plead  ill-health,  and  a  certain  weakness  of 
nerve,  which,  no  doubt,  always  follows  a  surgical 
operation,  for  the  fact  that  I  turned  round  and  put 
my  face  in  the  pillows  for  a  moment  and  groaned. 

Mrs.  Fielden  came  in  in  my  favourite  pale-blue 
gown,  which  she  sometimes  wears  when  she  changes 
her  frock  at  tea-time.  She  came  and  took  a  chair 
beside  me,  and  as  she  never  hurriedly  plunges  into  a 
conversation,  we  sat  silent  for  a  time.  The  after- 
noon was  darkening  now,  and  the  light  of  a  blazing 
fire  leaped  and  played  upon  her  pale-blue  dress  and 
turned  her  brown  hair  to  a  sort  of  red  gold. 

Mrs.  Fielden  thinks  she  is  the  only  person  in  the 
world  who  can  make  up  a  fire.  And  she  is  perfectly 
right.  She  arranged  the  logs  with  a  long  brass  poker, 
shifting  them  here  and  there,  while  her  dear  face 
glowed  in  the  light  of  the  fire.  She  is  not  a  luxurious 
woman,  in  spite  of  being  surrounded  always  by 
luxury.  For  instance,  she  stands  and  walks  in  a 
very  erect  way,  and  I  have  never  seen  her  stuff  a  lot 
of  sofa  cushions  at  her  back  in  a  chair,  nor  lounge 
on  a  sofa.  Her  glorious,  buoyant  health  seems  to 
exempt  her  from  need  of  support  or  ease,  and  her 
figure  is  too  pretty  for  lounging. 

308 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

When  she  had  finished  arranging  the  logs,  she  put 
down  the  poker  and  looked  at  me  with  that  dear 
kindliness  of  hers,  and  said,  in  her  pretty  voice: 
"  What  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself  this 
afternoon?  " 

"  The  minister  and  Evan  Sinclair  came  up  to  say 
good-bye,"  I  said. 

"  And  since  then?  " 

I  took  my  diary,  which  still  lay  on  my  knee,  and 
hid  it  under  the  sofa  cushions. 

"  Since  then,"  I  said,  "  I  have  been  correcting — 
that  is,  writing  my  diary." 

"  Oh,  the  diary !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Fielden  delight- 
edly. "  I  had  forgotten  about  that ! " 

"  No,  you  hadn't,"  I  said  to  myself.  "  It  is  only 
part  of  your  wilful,  uncomprehendable,  untranslat- 
able charm  that  makes  you  pretend  sometimes  that 
you  have  no  memory.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  you  knew 
from  the  first  that  it  would  be  a  relief  to  an  egotis- 
tical grumbler  to  get  rid  of  his  spleen  sometimes  on 
blue-ruled  essay  paper,  and  so  you  set  him  the  task 
to  do,  and  you  have  often  wondered  since  how  he  is 
getting  on  with  it." 

"  I  think  I  must  see  the  diary,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden. 

"  That  you  certainly  shall  not,"  I  said ;  and  I 
pushed  the  book  still  farther  under  the  sofa  cushions 

309 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

— just  as  if  it  were  necessary  to  fight  with  Mrs. 
Fielden  for  anything,  or  any  use  either. 

"  I  thought  you  promised,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden. 

"  If  I  did,  I  have  changed  my  mind,"  I  said  firmly. 

"  You  know  you  mean  all  the  time  to  let  me  see 
it,"  said  Mrs.  Fielden. 

"  I  know  I  do  not  mean  to  let  you  see  it  for  even  a 
minute  of  time,"  I  replied. 

One  of  Mrs.  Fielden's  special  odd  little  silences 
fell  between  us.  "  No,"  I  said  to  myself.  "  I  will 
not  say  I  am  sorry.  I  will  not  say  I  have  been  a 
brute.  I  will  not  feel  a  desire  to  comfort  her,  even 
if  her  eyes  take  the  wistful  look  upon  them." 

Mrs.  Fielden  sat  still  and  looked  into  the  fire. 

What  unexpected  thing  will  she  do  next,  I  wonder? 
Will  she  suddenly  burst  out  laughing,  or  will  she 
turn  and  take  every  bit  of  manhood  out  of  me  by 
smiling?  Or  shall  I  find  when  I  turn  and  look  at 
her  face  simply  that  she  has  gone  to  sleep? 

Good  heavens !     What  if  she  should  be  crying  ? 

In  an  agony  of  compunction  I  turned  and  looked 
at  her;  and  Mrs.  Fielden  not  only  smiled,  but  held 
out  her  hand  for  the  book.  ...  I  rummaged  under- 
neath the  sofa  cushions,  and  passed  it  over  to  her. 
She  bent  forward  till  the  fire  from  the  blazing  logs 
fell  full  on  the  open  page,  and  she  read  every  one  of 

310 


A  Lame   Dog's   Diary 

those  corrected  lines.  She  saw  where  I  had  once 
put  "  affected  "  I  had  now  put  "  beautiful,"  and  for 
"  frivolous  "  I  put  a  "  lovely  gaiety,"  and  she  read 
till  she  came  to  the  last  correction  of  all.  I  had  run 
a  line  through  the  words  "  Mrs.  Fielden  came  to  sit 
with  me,"  and  had  written  over  it,  "  My  darling 

came  to  see  me " 

Then  Mrs.  Fielden  closed  the  book,  and  left  her 
chair  where  she  had  been  sitting.  She  crossed  the 
hearthrug  quite  slowly  till  she  reached  my  sofa.  And 
then  she  kneeled  down  and  took  both  my  hands  in 
her  dear  strong  ones,  and  looked  at  me  with  misty 
blue  eyes,  like  wet  forget-me-nots.  "  But,  Hugo, 
dear,"  she  said,  "why  did  you  not  tell  me  so  long 
ago?" 


THE  END 


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